


Brace For Impact

by shini_amaryllis



Series: The Fine Grey Lining [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Mythology, The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asexual Character, Blood Magic, Brotherly Affection, Casual aphobia, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dean Fogg and Dumbles do not get along lmao, Dean and Hope are chaotic sibs, Depression, Female Harry Potter, Female Protagonist, Hope getting mentored by a Traveler who teaches her some decent mental warding holy fuck, Hope's getting more and more jaded as time goes on, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lesbian Character, Loss of Limbs, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Morrigan is def coded as trans, Multi, Psychic Abilities, Secrets, Slytherin Descendant, Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor Guilt, Temporary Character Death, Underage Smoking, i have realized that there's no reason Hogwarts and Brakebills can't exist in the same universe, like the Beast/Monster we will def get into in the sequel mostly with a little dabbles here, non-consensual magic use, so here we fucking are, this is basically if Fillory was slightly different than canon and the Otherworld existed, with the plot following Hope and Hogwarts initially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 278,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shini_amaryllis/pseuds/shini_amaryllis
Summary: Prequel to ST, LB-adjacent: It was common knowledge that Hope Potter was a very unnatural girl, but it was the dearest hope of Petunia and Vernon Dursley that no one ever found out how unnatural she really was. LB with edits and scenes referenced in ST, one year each chapter, FemHarry
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/Fred Weasley, Daphne Greengrass/Dean Thomas, Henry Fogg/Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hope Potter/George Weasley, Quinn Adiyodi/Diane Thomas, Seamus Finnigan/Ginny Weasley
Series: The Fine Grey Lining [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/597598
Comments: 21
Kudos: 42





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially Looking Beyond with minor editing and scenes referenced in Stand Tall thrown in. So that means more scenes with Nathaniel, Dean, and the Mirror Lady, who was mentioned in the most recent ST chapter.
> 
> There will be six chapters, six very long chapters, to which ST will be the sequel, so you can jump from this right over to that fic.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Which is why it came as much of a shock when they became the source of an investigation, particular one that had nothing to do with Mr. Dursley's job at Grunnings and everything to do with Mr. and Mrs. Dursleys admittedly rather peculiar niece, Hope Potter.

No one liked Hope Potter.

She always had that air about her, like there was something _unnatural_ about her.

But she wasn't much to look at, either way, a slip of a girl barely ten years old with knobby knees, green eyes, dark red hair, a permanent scowl, and a scar like lightning cracking across her face. She had an eerie way of disappearing immediately when she was needed to be found and accurately predicting when people would die down to the exact day, something that ostracized her immediately from her peers.

Hope Potter had no friends, was bullied constantly -not that anyone would've been able to guess, because, as luck would have it, all of her bullies had parents in high places-, and was an orphan since the tragic death of her parents when she was the tender age of one.

Mrs. Dursley, who was the sister of Hope's late mother, always lamented of the trials of raising a niece like that, and the other neighborhood wives had to agree. If they'd had to raise a hellion like Hope Potter, they would've turned her out years ago to an orphanage.

Yet, rumors spread like wildfire when Hope Potter ended up in a very critical condition in the nearby hospital, from what she claimed was her cousin pushing her into traffic.

But Hope Potter was a liar.

(Wasn't she?)

* * *

Hope had counted exactly twenty-two cracks on the ceiling and she was starting to get bored. The pain was starting to bloom again and she was back to feeling perfectly miserable. She hadn't even been able to look at her leg, but she knew the doctor had said it was a miracle it had been salvaged at all.

She wondered if it wouldn't hurt less if they'd just cut it off. Hope could manage with one leg, or even a fake leg; she wasn't as shy about that possibility as other people were.

It was going to take a lot of work to get her leg back to being functional, and Hope wasn't really sure it was worth it. Going back to the Dursleys with her small cupboard under the stairs was hardly conducive for healing legs.

She clenched her fists tight, trying to focus on something else, anything else.

"Care for a story, dearest?" a sudden voice asked and Hope looked up, frowning at the figure standing in the door. There something…distinctly unearthly about him in a way that she couldn't quite describe. He was tall with warm brown skin and bronze curls restrained in a small ponytail. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses and he was wearing an EMT uniform.

He seemed eerily familiar and Hope was almost ashamed of how long it took her to place him.

The ice-cold grip on her arm, forcing her heart to beat once again as she bled out on the pavement.

"A story?" she asked thickly, trying to not think about the stitches upon stitches on her leg under the sheet and how she would probably have to go for another surgery. The Dursleys were not going to be pleased about paying all that money towards her and she was really going to get it when she was discharged.

She had never had the luxury of being told stories, or indeed someone to tell her stories. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What kind of story?"

"One about a girl in an impossible situation, a quest, a beast, and a great tragedy," the man smiled in a way that was little more than the baring of teeth. He held out a hand to her. "My name's Nathaniel. You can call me Nath. I was there when—"

"You're the one that brought me back," Hope said, staring at him. "I'm Hope."

"I know," he said and Hope's brow furrowed in confusion.

She stared at him for the longest time, but this Nathaniel didn't seem like a mystery easily solved. "You said something about a story?"

So, Nathaniel sat down in the uncomfortable chair next to her and opened his mouth and spun a story that would never leave Hope Potter's mind.

* * *

There was a flash of green and a cackle of high-pitched laughter that awoke Hope from her nightmare, terrifying her so badly that she had to sit up in her small bed, breathing hard. The movement jarred her, and she had to bite down on her lip to resist making a noise as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet brushing gently against the floor.

The pain had come from her left leg, the one that bore a deep and jagged scars from all the surgeries she'd had to had. They littered her leg from her shin all the way up to her thigh and Hope still wondered if it wasn't better just to cut it off.

According to her therapist, that was a very natural way to feel.

(She'd also wanted Hope to be put on anti-depressants, but the Dursleys had put their foot down on that, not really impressing her therapist)

It was all Dudley's fault, the little _idiot_ , he was the one who'd pushed her into the street a few seconds before the car came speeding by. He may have seemed a bit regretful at the start of it, but that had quickly diminished (Hope suspected that might have had something to do with her sarcastic and angry nature).

Her fingers fumbled for the light switch and she blinked harshly once she managed to turn it on.

Her wand teetered dangerously on the edge of her bedside table, but she didn't bother moving it; if it did roll under her bed by the time morning came around, she'd still find it in the end. Hope stood up, the movement only causing a small twinge as opposed to earlier, raking her hands through her hair and scowling at the face of the girl her mirror reflected.

She knew the dark red hair was far less common than the brighter ginger, and if she wanted to, she could've changed the color of her hair to any color on the rainbow. She liked the color, but at the same time, she hated it. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw what she always saw; the face of her dead mother. She could see it in the almond and shade of her eyes, in the color of her hair. She hated how much she looked like her dead mother, and she knew that was all anyone would see when they looked at her. She lifted a hand to pull on the ends of her short hair, not regretting cutting it from how long it had been before. It had been purely impulsive, but worth it in the end.

Hope palmed her forehead with a soft groan. Two more days in this hellhole before she could finally leave, to go to a magical school in Scotland called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because Hope Potter was, in every sense, a witch.

She had initially scoffed at the idea; who had ever heard of modern-day witches, anyway? But she had to admit it was strange how she could sometimes change her appearance when she got emotional, or that one time when she had made her science experiment turn red –when it was supposed to remain blue and calm– and explode like a volcano, or how snakes would find her and whisper things.

Or how she could tell when someone would die, down to the exact day.

(Learning not to blurt that out had been a hard lesson to learn, but it had earned her the less than savory title of 'Reaper')

Well…maybe she had just been avoiding the signs. She was weird enough without all the magic throwing a curveball into her day. But Nath always said it was okay to be a little different.

The first thing he'd done when she'd left the hospital and started walking again was show her this small little café with a waitress named Sylvar who had ears a little too pointed and was determined to teach Hope to enjoy cooking.

Hope moved to lean her elbows on the windowpane, pressing her cheek against the glass to look outside and into the dark sky into which only a few stars were visible, most obscured by grey clouds. Hope scowled in front of her. If she squinted hard enough –even in the blackness– she could see a rosy shimmer, one that was characteristic of Blood Wards, according to one of the books she had read upon the discovery of her magical lineage. Though, she had to admit she had been far more interested in books on Ancient Runes than anything else, which was the only reason she'd recognized the Blood Wards.

Hope gave a mournful sigh, removing her eyes and face from the window to return to her bed and pull her heavy trunk towards her, feeling restless now and conceding that she probably wouldn't fall asleep for a while.

It may have looked like an average school trunk, but it had cost her a pretty penny and had been worth every galleon, as it came with an incredible extension charm. The trunk was almost full with her clothes, potion supplies, and second hand books that had once belonged to her mother—her aunt had apparently kept them out of sentiment, letting them gather dust in the attic—as well as a good dozen that she had either picked up from the family vault—the books being the only thing she could remove while being underage—or had bought at Flourish and Blotts.

Hope clicked the trunk open, pulling one compartment of it up, revealing a lengthy bookcase that was nowhere near being full of books but included a number that could send her off to sleep no problem, and that was what she was hoping for.

She frowned thoughtfully, considering the small amount of books for a moment before choosing at random and pulling out her _Magical Drafts and Potions_. She opened to the first page and began to read.

* * *

Their dad had been pretty specific about their foray into the Muggle World, there was to be no funny business -he'd given a hard look towards Fred and George, who'd shared amused glances- but it wasn't like any of them wanted to be the reason that a bunch of Obliviators had to come in on the weekend.

George Weasley couldn't remember the last time they'd gone to a zoo, and though he wasn't the kind of person to get distracted by some girl, he found himself pausing at the sight of a small girl sitting on the bench in front of an empty snake exhibit.

He'd never had a real interest in girls—though, he knew Fred was very much into their teammate and friend Angelina Johnson– but, he had to admit, she was definitely eye-catching, even only seeing her from the side.

Her hacked short hair was redder than his ginger, darker and more close in color to rose petals, with a single braid with a few beads strung in place. Her head was bowed over what looked to be a sketchbook with interest, but George thought she was around Ron's age, though a good deal paler and lacking proper nutrition -unlike Ron. Her jeans were ratty and peppered with holes and she had bunched her shirt into a hair tie at the back, turning the tail inward so it fit her frame better. One of her legs was stuck outward in an odd black brace; it looked uncomfortable.

People just passed her by, almost as if they didn't notice her at all. That was strange to George, because he thought she should have garnered a bit more attention being the only one not looking at any of the exhibits, with her focus entirely on the paper and book open on her lap.

"What happened to the snake?" he asked out loud, referring to the empty tank in front of her, faintly aware of his family leaving him behind and of Fred's curious glance back.

She paused in tracing out a symbol on the page, something that looked like a rune. She paused in her sketching, her pen stilling over the curve she had etched against the page. For a moment she did not move, far too stunned that someone had spoken to her than anything else, but then her head twisted upwards to pierce him with those bottle-green eyes. They were an unbelievably pretty color, especially on her, brighter than any green he'd ever seen. And though George knew people could be cute, he'd never met someone who immediately made him stop and go 'huh, cute'.

The green eyes narrowed slightly, filling with suspicion as she looked him up and down. She had a look like she was bracing for an impact that only she could see.

His eyes were a bright, impossible blue, clashing with the ginger of his hair, and out of his trouser pocket she could clearly see the carved hilt of a wand, far more intricate than hers, but Hope didn't really mind; her wand suited her just fine.

Her eyes returned to her paper, adding a few final touches to the rune. "It might have escaped," she said evasively with a shrug, "in a burst of accidental magic."

Her voice had a strange lilt, George noticed, one he'd never heard before, like she wasn't strictly from around there, but it wasn't unpleasant. And then he realized what she had said.

George's jaw unhinged as he stared at her. How did she know he was a wizard?

She arched a crimson eyebrow, before sighing and proceeding to stuff her things—several books that he now could see dealt mostly with magic, but looked too advanced for someone her age—into her bag. "Don't look so surprised; it's obvious." She rolled her eyes, even though it was only obvious if you were looking for the signs (such as wands sticking out of pockets, for instance).

"And what about you?" George asked curiously.

"What about me?" she asked, a little miffed, brushing her hair from her face as she stood, a beaded strand of her hair catching the light as she did so. "I'm just a witch."

Fred called his name in the distance and she smiled at him, glancing behind to see an identical boy. So, he was a twin, was he? It was the first time Hope had smiled in a while; it hurt her cheeks. "See you around, Wizard-boy," she winked and her green eyes shimmered an identical blue to his before returning to green in an instant as she disappeared through the throng of people with a fairly obvious limp, the brace making strange noises as it connected with stone and her cane clicking as she moved.

Only after she left did George realize she hadn't told him her name.

* * *

In retrospect, Hope should have asked Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts who had been her guide into Diagon Alley after knocking down the door at that little Hut-On-The-Rock, how on earth she got into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but it had slipped her mind at the time.

Petunia and Vernon had been curiously happy to drop her off at King's Cross Station on the first of September. It all made sense when they drove off in laughter, leaving Hope with a train ticket to a platform that didn't exist.

Hope sat down in irritation on a bench just beyond Platform Nine, tapping her cane against the ground. She couldn't ask someone about the platform, because how was she to know if they were Muggle or Magical?

Hope gave a forlorn sigh as the minutes ticked by; she was going to miss her train…

"Come on, Ced! Hurry up!"

Hope looked up as a strangely dressed man strode past, his clothes slightly mismatched as though he was only wearing them to fit in, waving his hand towards a boy that could only be his son with similar brown hair and grey eyes like the woman following after him. He was pushing his cart and he had an owl.

Hope blinked once, and then again for good measure to remind herself that what she was seeing was indeed real. Since it was, this "Ced" had to be a wizard, why else would he have an owl in a cage like she did?

"Coming, Dad!" the boy called, his speed picking up as he passed his father, pushing his cart right into the dividing barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten.

A second later, Hope leaned forward in surprise, almost gaping; the boy had gone right through the _wall_! _What the-?_

And then his parents followed, doing the exact same thing, moments later.

_Weird…_

But better to try than to not, Hope had to concede to herself, on the upside, she might make it to her train on time, on the downside, she might just collide with the wall.

Hope opted to try, pulling herself up into a standing position, dangling her cane from the bar as she pushed it towards the divider. She first pressed it lightly against the wall, but it went right through the wall, so she added a bit more force only to find herself on what must be the opposite side, Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Steam was rising around the scarlet train and more people than Hope could count were clustered around it, ready to send students off for the year. It made Hope feel awkward, considering that she had come alone and had no one to care enough to miss her, but that wasn't all she had a problem with.

(She hadn't even told Nath about where the school was or indeed what kind of school it was; she was certain there were rules against that)

If there was one thing Hope could say that she honestly hated, it was crowds. She was not at all in her element, being pushed to and fro, each shove sending a flare of pain up her leg before she finally managed to get her trunk to the train door, but there was no way she was going to be able to heave the trunk into the train with her leg in its condition. And her upper body strength left much to be desired.

Hope gave another sigh, mentally cursing herself when a sudden voice behind her caught her off guard.

"Want a hand?"

Hope turned so swiftly on her heel, that she almost sprained the ankle of her already-messed-up leg in her startled surprise. It was the boy from the previous day, the curious blue-eyed boy that had actually paid attention to her (an equally strange occurrence). She could feel embarrassment blooming inside of her, but she tried not to let it show.

"Wizard-boy," she said, her voice colored with the surprise she still felt.

"Mystery-girl," he mocked in return, his eyes glinting mischievously, an expression she suspected he was known for, and she had no idea how right she was.

Confusion replaced the surprise and she eyed him strangely. Mystery-girl? Had she come off as mysterious before? She certainly hadn't tried to be. Hope wasn't known for being mysterious…snarky and sarcastic, sure, but mysterious? Doubtful.

His eyes flickered to her thick black brace over her leg and Hope couldn't resist shifting uncomfortably, but he offered her no scathing remarks or piteous looks that she often garnered, much to her aggravation.

"That looks serious," he said instead, his voice kind. "Does it hurt?"

"Oh!" She said, her surprise returning and lancing through her like pain. Her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened at the question, looking down at her leg as though she had forgotten of her injury, but that was doubtful as it was hard to forget about. Though the pain did indeed bother her, she found that if she didn't think about it, it almost felt like it was nonexistent. "Not as much anymore, but, yeah, a bit," she admitted.

"How'd you really know I was a wizard?" he asked this time, more curious, and kindly not questioning her more about her injury as many often did.

Well, wasn't he a query-filled wizard? Hope threw him a rather dry expression. "I could see the handle of your wand sticking out of your pocket, happy?"

"Exceptionally," he agreed with a wide grin, failing to hide the flustered redness on his cheeks, before repeating his earlier words, "Need a hand?"

"Yes, please," she said gratefully, her cheeks still flushing slightly from when her eyes had met his vibrant blue ones. She wasn't used to someone keeping her attention so completely without resisting the urge to smack someone (because Hope did have a bit of a violent streak).

"I'm George," he added, extending his hand to her, surprising her even more, his lips still set in a smile. "Since you ran off before."

"Hope," she said simply, the flush fading from her cheeks as she slid her hand into his. "I can assure you running is something that I am hardly capable of."

George's smile shifted into a smirk before he called over his shoulder. "Oi, Fred! C'mere and help!"

It was the twin she had spotted in the crowd the previous day, and he raced over to assist him. Hope was grateful for the help; it wasn't like she really had the muscles to lift the luggage, and asking for help never really ended that well for her.

A boy took either side, tucking it with ease into a spare overhead compartment.

"Thanks," Hope said as they dropped back to the ground, brushing the fringe out of her eyes with an action that drew their attention immediately.

"What's that?" the second one, Fred, asked her, making a blatant gesture towards the scar that rested on her forehead. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt and Hope had had it for as long as she could remember, only recently had she discovered that it was a product of a murder attempt by a man called Lord Voldemort, the very same man that had killed her parents.

A scowl marred Hope's lips at the thought of how she had gotten it.

"Blimey!" George said, his eye widening comically in realization. "Are you—?"

"She is," Fred said before directing his attention to Hope, "aren't you?"

"What?" Hope asked, flummoxed by their behavior. It seemed to her that she was only hearing half of the conversation, they seemed to be having most of it in their heads. She wondered what that must've been like.

 _"Hope Potter,"_ they chorused in unison.

She arched an eyebrow at them in return, mild annoyance setting in. "Yes."

"Why didn't you say anything?" George demanded, struck dumb.

Hope shrugged her shoulders disinterestedly. She didn't think there were many 'Hope's, it wasn't as common a name as one would think, but she suspected this had more to do with the events surrounding her parents' murder, and Hope really didn't want to talk about that, especially about what little she remembered. "It's just a name, nothing special, trust me."

She shifted uncomfortably under their stares before attempting to stumble onto the train, and she probably wouldn't have made it on if George hadn't gripped her elbows and lifted her up. A faint flush dusted across her cheeks at the seemingly effortless and thoughtless move and the warmth of his hands at her elbows. "Thanks."

His smile was nice enough as she shut the door, the pair disappearing once their mother called out their names. They turned back briefly, giving identical waves with smiles that lit their eyes. She waved back, feeling genuine for once.

And then she sat down on the cushion, glancing out the window towards where the two boys had run towards.

She blinked. That was a _lot_ of gingers, but she was starting to see it was a family trait.

Their mother was standing with a little girl and a boy her age when her older sons approached and Hope could hear clearly from where she was sitting.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose," the mother said, and Hope assumed that 'Ron' was the youngest boy's name, rubbing at the end of his nose with a spare handkerchief, and it was clearly something the boy didn't approve of.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" one of the twins asked as the other sniggered. Hope supposed that was what it was like to have siblings, not that she would know.

"Shut up," Ron retorted.

"Where's Percy?" their mother asked, glancing around for what must have been another of her offspring. Hope arched an eyebrow; how many of them were there?

"He's coming now," one of the twins said (Hope couldn't tell which one at this distance), nodding to their left where an older boy with the same ginger hair as his siblings with horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He seemed much stiffer and restrained than his siblings if Hope was to go off of looks alone.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he told the woman in a serious manner that hardly suited his age. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves—"

"Oh," one of the twins gave a noise of surprise, as though this information had not been made aware to him, "are you a _prefect_ , Percy? You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on," the other side, giving the pretense of thinking very hard, "I think I remember him saying something about it. Once—"

"Or twice—" his twin added.

"A minute—"

"All summer—"

"Oh, shut up," Percy shot out, his words holding a bit of fire as he bid his mother farewell, permitting his younger sister to hug him before he headed back towards the train.

"Now, you two—" the mother had turned to the twins who gave off the impression that they were innocent, though Hope doubted that very much. "—this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've-you've blown up a toilet or—"

"Blown up a toilet?" said the twin on the left, slightly incredulous. "We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though," the twin on the right added with a wide grin, "thanks, Mum."

"It's not funny," their mother said with an all-suffering voice. "And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us." They gave identical impish grins.

"Shut up," Ron retorted for the second time, but he was ignored. Hope suspected this happened a lot.

"Hey, Mum, guess what?" one of the twins said, glancing towards his brother. "You know that girl we told you that George was talking to at the zoo yesterday?" Hope couldn't help but turn pink, but that was nothing compared to the ears of the twin that could only be George.

"Yes?" she said in confusion.

"Fred," the other said in warning, and Hope suspected that this was George.

"She's here, and you won't believe who she is!" Fred added, grinning widely towards George, who actually shot his twin a frustrated scowl, despite the color on his cheeks.

"Who?" she asked in confusion.

"Hope Potter!"

Several pairs of eyes turned towards where she was sitting and she scowled at the twins in particular, before leaning back in her seat so she couldn't be seen.

"Blimey," said Fred, eyebrows arched high. "She doesn't look pleased."

George gave him an unimpressed expression that could've easily translated to: "You think?"

* * *

Ron knew all about that had happened at the zoo; George had fallen behind to talk to a girl. But the real question was why? George –according to Fred, at least, who hardly ever left his twin's side– had never shown an interest in a girl, ever, not even with Fred making eyes at Angelina Johnson (if Percy was to be believed). He was the quieter of the two who would rather find out how to come up with pranks rather than out flirting with girls.

So, it had to take something special for him to strike up conversation with a girl he didn't even know.

Ron resolved to find out more, seeking out the compartment that she had glared out of earlier.

Up close, she was very different than he expected.

An intricately carved cane rested beside her, but he didn't give it much thought –only later coming to realize that it was carved to subtly appear like a snake did–, focusing more on the girl.

Her hair was short and dark red, with a strand spun with green and blue beads, oddly enough. Her eyes were a bright green that were focused downwards on a leather-bound book on her lap, but her gaze lifted when he opened the door.

He wasn't sure what he expected, to be honest. She didn't seem much like the heroine she was glorified to be. She looked remarkably ordinary, except for the strange brace that rested on her leg.

"D-Do you mind if I join you?" he asked her a bit nervously when she'd looked up with a scowl. "All the other compartments are packed." And Ron didn't want to be the awkward one intruding on others' conversations just because he couldn't find a seat.

"I don't mind," she said, closing the book softly, "who else is going to sit here, anyways?"

Ron took this as an invitation, so he shut the door behind him and sat across from her, trying not to feel too uncomfortable.

"I'm Ron, er, Weasley," he said, hastily tacking on his last name. He didn't usually have to; most people knew who he was by sight alone, not that that was necessarily a good thing. "By the way."

"I'm Hope," she said, electing not to add her surname, shifting slightly in her seat, a movement that caused the fringe on her forehead to part slightly so that the lightning bolt scar was obvious.

Any further conversation was halted when the door opened once more and two identical heads popped in.

Fred winked at Hope who scowled in return, unimpressed, while George tried to hide his snorts. George tossed Hope an apologetic glance, making her huff slightly in exasperation.

"Hey Ron," Fred said, grinning widely, "listen, we're going down the middle of the train –Lee's got a giant tarantula down there."

Ron fought to not shiver at his words. Spiders… _urgh_ …disgusting creatures. And he just knew that Fred was doing that on purpose; a lot of Fred's pranks on Ron tended to deal with spiders. "Right," he said, his voice low and quiet, almost not heard.

Hope leaned her cheek against her fist, giving off the vaguest impression of boredom. She arched an eyebrow at Fred as if she was expecting something from him while George clapped his hands to his mouth so that he wouldn't explode into laughter.

Fred coughed nervously as he turned towards her. "Er…sorry for talking about you behind your back, Hope."

Hope accepted this apology with stride and Ron got the feeling that a lot of people talked about her behind her back.

"I had a whole pub trying to shake my hand when I went with Hagrid to get my school things," Hope said in a dry manner. "Believe me, my name is hardly something to be in awe of, and neither is my scar."

Fred and George bid them farewell and George spared the Potter a roguish wink that Ron could have sworn made her cheeks pink.

"Are they always like that?" Hope asked Ron after a moment, blinking a few times as she stared at the compartment door that they had closed after them.

"Generally," Ron groaned, "but much worse."

"Something to look forward to," Hope said with a laugh, and that laugh made her seem far more approachable than before.

The first question that sprang from his lips but that he held back was concerning You-Know-Who and her parents, that night in October ten years ago, but he remembered how his mum was every year on the anniversary of his uncles Gideon and Fabian Prewett's deaths. Sometimes it was best not to ask about the dead.

"So…your whole family is magical?" Hope guessed before he could think up something else to ask.

"Er, I'm pretty sure," Ron said, screwing his face up in thought for a moment. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's a…stock broker, I think it's called, but we never talk about him."

Hope arched an eyebrow. "Oh…" She floundered, searching for another topic when Ron took initiative.

"I heard you live with Muggles now," Ron said, looking at her in fascination. "What was that like?"

Hope rolled her eyes in aggravation. "Well, I lived in a cupboard for ten years, until the letters started coming and then they moved me to the second bedroom."

"A cupboard?" Ron was agape.

"Under the stairs," Hope clarified.

"Wait…letters?"

"Well, Vernon, he'd married to my mum's sister—" Ron thought it best not to comment on her studiously avoiding the term uncle. "—and every time he saw the letters he would burn them, so…" Hope explained how her mum's sister's family had taken her and had tried to physically outrun the letters and how it didn't end very well for any of them, especially Dudley who had ended up with a pig's tail. By the end of it, Hope was feeling very glad that Ron had a light-hearted personality as he stifled his laughter into chuckles with great difficulty.

"Running away from letters?" he guffawed. "I wonder what they told people about the, leaving so suddenly?"

"Who knows?" Hope asked with a shrug before turning the conversation towards him. "How many siblings do you have?"

"One younger sister and five older brothers," he told her, "Ginny's not old enough to come to Hogwarts yet, then there's me, then the twins, Fred and George, then Percy, Charlie, and Bill. Bill and Charlie are the only ones out of school, though." He scowled slightly. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill was Head Boy and Charlie was Captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

He showed her the rat, Scabbers, though it was quite fast asleep.

"I like old stuff," Hope told him, unconcerned by his lack of wealth, she hadn't even known that she had any money of her own until her birthday and it was still barely touched. Nath had taken her to buy new clothes when he was finally certain that the Dursleys wouldn't take them away from her and Sylvar always gave her food on the house.

Ron stared at her. "You do?"

"Maybe I'm just weird," Hope considered briefly, "but I like things that my parents once had, like these." She lifted her hands to show him the two rings her fingers bore. One was so large that it had to be worn on the thumb until her fingers weren't quite as small, that one was set in gold bearing a black opal. The other rested on her ring finger like a silver snake twined around her finger with emerald eyes. "My dad left them for me."

"It must be strange that everyone knows you and your parents' names," he said instead, wanting to move away from how poor his family was.

"A bit, yeah," Hope had to admit, leaning down so that she could straighten her leg and Ron noticed how her brow creased slightly and her face contorted before smoothing out as she leaned back; he pretended not to have noticed.

"I was that girl the weird girl at school," Hope told him, "Dudley, Vernon and Petunia's son, was a menace to me for years with his gang of friends before he pushed me in front of a car and I got this." Hope tapped a finger to the black brace. "I was in the hospital for _weeks_ …" Something flickered behind her eyes, but a second later it had gone and she released an embarrassed chuckle. "Sorry, that's kind of off track…" Ron didn't mind too much. "I don't much like being the center of attention and all everyone's said to me is ' _You look so much like your mother_.'" She'd originally not minded looking like her, because it always seemed to offend Petunia, but now she was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

A scowl marred her lips, but Ron couldn't figure out why.

Luckily, at that moment they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of the candy trolley and Hope caused a distraction by buying what appeared to be a little bit of everything except for Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, which Ron could understand, not being a big fan of gum; Ron was more than happy to help her eat them, explaining what each sweet was, laughing as the two gagged their way through the Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

And Ron Weasley, who had been so worried that he wouldn't fit in or find a friend found one in Hope Potter who had feared much the same.

* * *

Hope and Ron were distracted from their good fun by a tear-faced boy with brown hair and eyes that Hope thought looked vaguely familiar.

"Sorry," he said after he opened the door following a polite knock, "but you haven't seen a toad, have you?"

"Sorry," Hope said as she and Ron shook their heads in unison.

"I've lost him!" the boy bemoaned, his voice rising to nearly a keen. "He keeps getting away from me!"

"I'm sure he isn't completely lost," Hope consoled the distraught boy. "I mean, there's only so far he could've gone."

"You're probably right," the boy said in a somber tone, still upset over the loss of his pet. "Well, if you see him…" And then he left them on their own once more.

"Can't imagine why he'd want to keep it," Ron told Hope in an undertone as though being wary of the boy in case he was listening in. "If I'd brought a toad, I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk." He nodded to the rat that had still yet to show any signs of life from where it lay on Ron's lap. Hope's mouth twitched faintly.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," Ron said, glowering slightly at the rodent. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work."

"Pity," Hope said with a toothy grin. "Want to give it another go?"

"Might as well," Ron said, struggling to pull his wand free from his trunk where he had stashed it in the overhead compartment with difficulty when he had first come in, dropping to the ground with a far more worn wand than Hope had ever seen in her life, but then he had said earlier that he had inherited his brother's wand, so that made a bit of sense.

Though she thought the wand chose the wizard…at least, that had been what Mr. Ollivander had said about the subject.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out," he grumbled as he sat back down with the rat in one hand and the wand in the other. "Anyways—"

He raised his wand, preparing to incant the spell when they were interrupted the fourth time. Hope hid her sigh of annoyance.

It was the boy from before, obviously still without his toad if the despondent expression was any indicator. But he was not alone, he was with a girl, first year as well, Hope assumed from the standard Hogwarts tie that all first years wore until they were 'sorted' into the four Houses. Though, Hope had to wonder why she had changed so early.

She had a similar slight build to Hope's, though but with that indefinable air of having been well-cared-for, even adored, that Hope so conspicuously lacked, brown curls framing a very no-nonsense face.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" she demanded a bit aggressively. "Neville's lost one."

Hope took Neville to be the name of the boy.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Ron said in annoyance, but that didn't seem to deter her in the slightest, her eyes fastening onto his wand with a manic gleam that Hope wasn't sure was a good thing.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" she asked, her tone of voice brimming with excitement. "Let's see it, then."

Hope blinked, slightly startled when the girl, being incredibly forward, sat herself on the cushion beside Hope to watch, and clearly Ron was similarly minded.

"Er–alright," he said a bit awkwardly, swallowing before opening his mouth:

_"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."_

With an incantation like that, Hope wasn't surprised that it didn't work when he waved his wand.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" the girl asked. "Well, it's not very good, is it?"

This was a bit of a rude assessment, Hope thought as Ron glanced towards her with an incredulous expression.

"I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me," she continued, seeming to not notice the looks that were being passed between the two. "Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard –I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough– I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Hope wasn't sure she'd heard anyone talk so fast without breathing, which was probably why her words were said so fast, so that she could breathe afterwards.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron told her.

"Hope," Hope said, before reluctantly adding her surname when Hermione's gaze did not waver from hers. "Potter."

"Are you really?" Hermione was beaming at her now and Hope wasn't quite sure why. "I know all about you, of course –I got a few extra books, for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The_ _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."_

Hope blinked, startled by this information. "Really?" she said.

"Goodness, didn't you know?" Hermione asked. "I'd have found out everything I could if it was me." Hope was glad she'd only read one of the books Hermione had mentioned and it wasn't because she was in it, in fact, she'd skimmed through it and hadn't even realized she was a subject of interest.

"Do either of you know what House you'll be in?" Hermione continued. "I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad...Anyways, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

She was barely out the door when Hope called out to them, making them pause.

"You might want to try the Prefects," Hope suggested, (she knew what a Prefect was and she assumed because they were older that they knew more spells), "maybe they know a spell that'll help you find your toad."

Hermione contemplated her for a moment as Neville went off in search of someone wearing a Prefect's badge.

"And I wouldn't believe everything you read," Hope added, making Hermione's lips twitch slightly before she ducked her head back into the compartment, sliding the door shut and leaning back into her seat.

"Whatever House I'm in," Ron grumbled with a scowl on his face as he thrust the wand back in his trunk, sitting in a huff, "I hope she's not in it. Stupid spell –George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"He does seem the type," Hope had to admit, having been subjected to several tales concerning Ron's prankster older twin brothers. It seemed to her that the pair rather enjoyed more than a good bit of fun, and taking the mickey out on their younger brother was right up their alley.

"Do you know what House you'll be in?" Maybe it was different for those who had family for through the 'Sorting Ceremony' already.

"No idea," Ron told her, "you don't find out how they Sort you until you're in the Great Hall. I hope I'll be in Gryffindor, though."

"Why's that?" Hope asked.

"Well, the whole family's been in Gryffindor," Ron explained, biting the inside of his mouth. "Mum, Dad, all my brothers. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be _too_ bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Ron didn't notice how her hand tightened into a fist at the mention of Slytherin.

"What'd be wrong with Slytherin?" Hope asked as casually as she could manage.

"That's the House that You-Know-Who came out of," Ron said, saying the title in a hushed voice, "they say there wasn't a witch or wizard that went bad that wasn't in Slytherin."

Hope twisted her serpent ring uncomfortably on her finger as she looked outside, the sky growing darker as time passed on.

"What do your brothers do?" Hope asked suddenly in interest, as though the thought had just occurred to her, which was very likely. She hadn't really considered what you did once you completed seven years of schooling at Hogwarts, she always figured you'd just be a witch or a wizard, depending on your gender.

"Well, Charlie's in Romania at a Dragon Reserve," Ron explained. "And Bill's in Africa working as a Curse-breaker for Gringotts."

"Ah," Hope said, though she didn't really understand, though this didn't particularly matter as Ron had jumped to another topic.

"Did you hear about Gringotts?" he asked her and she shook her head. "It's been all over the Daily Prophet, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles –someone tried to rob a high security vault."

That sounded like a very foolish thing to do in Hope's opinion. The only lock she tried to pick was the one that Vernon and Petunia had always put on her cupboard; bank robbing was something else entirely.

"How much trouble did they get in?" Hope asked.

"That's the funny thing," Ron said, his eyes sparking, "they didn't get caught! My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get 'round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Hope arched an eyebrow, wondering how people could still be afraid of someone that was dead, but that wasn't her business.

* * *

Ron was halfway through explaining the game of Quidditch –which involved seven players on each team, riding broomsticks, four very distinct balls, and two bats– when they were interrupted once more.

Hope was starting to find it grating every time the compartment door slid open, but she couldn't resist her mouth opening slightly in surprise at who stood beyond.

There were three boys, two appearing as though they were much too stocky for their short height, but the third, a pale boy with blonde hair and cold grey eyes, Hope recognized very well. They had run into each other in Madam Malkin's robe shop and he had sneered at her leg and cane, hardly trying to hide disdain towards her even when he had been questioning her about her parentage.

He looked her up and down as though he couldn't believe that Hope Potter was a _cripple._ Hope had never liked the word, though there was exactly one upside to her current situation, and it was that it gave Hope the opportunity to jab at people she didn't like with her cane and get away with it.

"Is it true?" he asked, his lip curling slightly as he looked over her and Hope found she didn't like the look at all. "They're saying all down the train that Hope Potter's in this compartment. So, it's you, is it?"

"It must be," Hope said sarcastically, rolling her eyes towards Ron who hid his sniggers into his hand. "Since I'm the only girl in the compartment."

His lips curled into an expression that was halfway between a sneer at her attitude and a smirk that he'd found out that she was indeed Hope Potter, even though Hope wasn't necessarily trying too hard to hide her identity.

"This is Crabbe," the boy said gesturing first to the boy on his left and then his right, "and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron hid another laugh and Hope could understand why. This boy hardly came off as frightening as a dragon –as ' _draco'_ did mean dragon, she knew enough of Latin to figure that one out– that he was named for was meant to be.

However, Ron's actions in turn caused Draco Malfoy to turn on him with deep loathing.

"Think my name's _funny,_ do you?" he sneered. "No need to ask who _you_ are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Ron's face and ears flamed a brilliant crimson and Hope felt a flare of uncommon anger on his behalf. Forget rude, this brat was crass with the intention to hurt, like all those bullies at her school, making jibes about 'the Reaper' being there ('guess someone's gonna die soon,' they'd laughed and Hope broke her pencil). And then Draco Malfoy was focused on Hope once more and she schooled her expression carefully.

"You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort," he said, his eyes flicking towards Ron. "I can help you there."

He held out a hand to Hope and it was only then that Hope glared.

"I'm actually sure that I won't have a problem with sorting out the good from the bad, especially when I'm looking at you," she told him coldly.

Malfoy was not impressed by her attitude, but, then again, very few were.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Malfoy warned. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Ron leapt to his feet in anger, but Hope did not.

" _Ooh!"_ she said, grinning, "are you threatening me?" She'd heard threats like that before. Threats that followed a punch or a slap. Draco Malfoy was little more than a dog with all bark and no bite.

Hope had a painful bite, and she knew it.

"And if I was?" Malfoy retorted, though it was quite different threatening someone and having them be afraid, than threatening someone and having them be humored by the attempt.

"Well, who could really be afraid of you?" Hope asked, tilting her head slightly to the side as she pulled her cane free, shooting to forward so that it whacked against his head, sending him reeling out of the compartment before Scabbers caused a diversion by biting into Goyle's finger.

It sounded as though it was quite painful, and it took a good bit of effort before Scabbers' jaws released Goyle's finger, allowing all three boys to make a hasty getaway.

"Well," Hope said after a moment, "that was exciting."

Laughter bloomed from Ron's lips, and Hope couldn't help but think all that trouble had been worth it.

* * *

Hope almost fell flat on her face as she exited the train. This was yet another reason why Hope hated that girls were required to wear skirts, and being self-conscious of her scars, she was wearing incredibly thick tights, which at least kept her brace from rubbing against her skin too painfully.

 _Almost_ being the operative word. An arm pulled her upright before she fell completely, placing her gently on the ground.

Hope looked up, not at all surprised to see a pair of blue eyes looking down at her, but entirely flustered.

"Watch your step, Mystery-girl," George Weasley said, grinning as Hope swallowed her embarrassment as best as she could.

She released a short laugh almost against her will, only slightly covering her humiliation. "Wizard-boy, keep your mouth to yourself."

George sniggered as his little brother followed Hope out of the train, and George raised his hands in defeat, though the grin on his lips ruined the image.

"Would I really mock Hope Potter?" he queried with an air of innocence that Hope didn't for one second believe.

Hope rolled her eyes as best as she could, but her lips were twitching upwards into a smile, and George would take what he could get. "Are you always this impossible?"

"Only when pretty girls are around!" he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the crowd of students that were composed entirely of the years other than first.

"Bloody bonkers," Ron said at Hope's side. "And I always thought George was the sane one."

"Who's really sane, anyways?" Hope had to ask and Ron had to wordlessly agree with her there, the pair settling into an anxious silence that had only been brought on by their arrival at a new school, a school Hope had yet to see.

It seemed like Hope, Ron, and all the other first years were standing in relative darkness for a short while before a voice called out: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

A lamp swinging from a giant hand as well as the voice and partially illuminated face revealed to Hope that it was Hagrid.

He grinned down at her. "All right there, Hope?"

"All right," Hope laughed as Ron gaped at the Keeper of Keys as though he had never seen a man so tall, which Hope thought was incredibly likely.

"C'mon, follow me," Hagrid called over their heads, his lamp swinging with every move that he made, somehow managing to miss any of the small heads attached to equally short bodies before him. "Any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

And then he turned, lamp still swinging, heading down a path that the first years could barely see. Hope almost fell once more, her cane slipping in the mud, only managing to remain upright by fisting the robes at Ron's arm at the last moment.

If this annoyed him, he didn't mention it.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here," Hagrid told them, his voice belling out and echoing in the silence, causing several people trip at the sound, including Ron, and this time it was Hope that stopped him from falling over his feet.

"Ron, _Ron!"_ Hope tugged on his arm, her eyes fastened on the magnificent structure beyond them. Hope had never seen anything so beautiful in her short eleven years of life.

It was a medieval castle of _perfection_ , that was the best way to describe it. Several stories tall with spires branching off from the main structure. Hope had seen similar castles –though far less impressive– in history textbooks but they were worn by age and elements, and this castle was in prime condition.

The only thing that separated them from it was a lake that glittered like black glass.

"Bloody hell," Ron said beside her and Hope had to agree entirely as several others "Oooooh!"ed in appreciation. The sight was so distracting that the first years had to remember to start walking again.

Ron glanced at Hope and despite the darkness and the nervousness that they both felt, they grinned.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called out, jerking them out of the awed trance that had been induced at the sight of the castle; several people started at his voice.

Ron and Hope got in the last boat with Hermione and Neville, but this might have had something to do with Hope not moving very fast with her blasted leg.

This day was turning Hope into a very clumsy person; Hope could not be blamed for this. And she couldn't blame Ron's older brother for everything, but she was going to blame him for the first time, and then the ground, and then the boat, in that order.

She was not going to think at all about when George had said _"Only when pretty girls are around."_ No, she was definitely not thinking about that.

"Everyone in? Right then- FORWARD!"

Hope gripped the edge of the boat tightly, wary of falling into its depths, pausing when she saw a familiar reflection that had followed her for as long as she could remember. A head of dark hair and impossibly black eyes. Hope smiled as waved before she disappeared.

She leaned forward slightly, because she could've _sworn_ she saw something moving down there. Then she had to recoil quickly when she saw a pair of yellow eyes shimmer in the darkness before vanishing with a flutter of what looked to be green seaweed but Hope would one day learn it was in fact hair.

Hope breathed out slowly, quickly forgetting about the eyes as she looked on to the castle with its lanterns flickering in welcome.

* * *

Forget how nervous Hope had been before, because it had doubled, or even tripled, Hope wasn't quite sure how much her fear had increased, but it sure as hell had gone up _a lot,_ especially as they waited in the antechamber as the witch in emerald robes from before had indicated.

Professor McGonagall, gave off a severe air that told Hope that she might want to tip-toe around her, especially if she went off wandering at night, which Hope just knew she would; who wouldn't with a castle this big?

Not even Hope's leg was going to get in the way of her excitement at exploring.

Hope then had to wonder if the woman could hear her thoughts, because her calculating grey eyes flashed to meet Hope's.

She recalled from the letter she had gotten from Hogwarts listing a woman named Minerva McGonagall as the Deputy Headmistress, so that had to be this woman. Minerva, Hope knew, being named after a Greek primordial being herself, was the Roman equivalent of Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Hope got the sense that she was aptly named.

Professor McGonagall held her gaze for only a moment and confusion marred Hope's face as she abruptly broke eye contact with her, as though it caused her pain to hold her eyes to Hope's.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," she told the gathering of first years. "Please wait quietly." And then she turned on her heel and exited the chamber, leaving the new students alone with two suits of armor and several lit brackets that cast an ominous glow on the walls and the suits of armor.

Both the suits of armor, Hope noticed, bore snakes on their shields which were held stiffly in front of them.

The other eleven and twelve-year olds were conversing in low whispers when Hope noticed both bow themselves slightly in respect towards her. This resulted in Hope feeling much more flummoxed than before.

She opted to stare at the ground which held a strange swirling design, but looking at it made her dizzy, what with the swirls and the anxiety she was currently feeling.

"I think Fred said you have to do some sort of test so they can Sort you into your House," Ron hissed out of the corner of his mouth to her. "Fred said it hurt a lot…I'm sure he was joking, though," he added when her face went stark white.

Hope swallowed, trying to think of anything but leaving the antechamber. Surely Fred must have been lying. It would be cruel to subject them to something painful…so what would it _be?_ Before she could even ponder that, Professor McGonagall had reappeared once more, causing all the murmurs to cease in an instant.

"Now, form a line, and follow me," was all she said as she led them through the doors.

Unsurprisingly Hope found herself behind everyone else, ignoring a few comments said in an undertone concerning her injury. If she hadn't been so focused, she might have turned her hair jet-black.

They left the antechamber to walk through the great magnificent oak doors and into the Great Hall, and Hope was awed by the hall itself. There were more candles than she could count dangling high up in the air without suspension, illuminating the four long tables and the Head Table at the front. Hope's eyes were drawn to the man at the center whose long white beard was as clear as day. Even at this distance, she could see his eyes twinkling.

But his face was only one of so many faces bearing down on them, including those of the many ghosts hovering above.

There was a shiver down her spine as she flicked her eyes along the various tables. She could see several people with an aura of death around them, those doomed to die. Thankfully, there were only three she could see, one of which was at the Head Table. That was a relief. When she'd been in that school with Dudley, she'd seen twelve auras in a single classroom and it had made her sick to her stomach.

Three amongst such a mass, was an enormous relief, though, this time she resolved to not mention it to anyone like she had so foolishly done before.

Hope allowed her eyes to drift upwards, trailing upwards to the ghosts and then past them once she saw the ceiling, which could hardly be described as a ceiling, resembling the night sky.

She was so distracted by the sky being inside that she almost ran into the person in front of her, and she was sure that they wouldn't have been very pleased with her, returning her attention towards a short stool before them all, upon which sat perhaps the most raggedy hat in existence.

Hope blinked furiously, barely managing not to gape in incomprehension when she heard the rustic singing, coming from a _hat_ of all things! What kind of school was this, anyway, to have a _hat_ that could _sing_? An incredulous expression appeared briefly on her face at the sight of an old and patched once-pointed hat, singing from a rip in the material.

Its song was one of the strangest things she'd heard, giving fine descriptions of each House, the words regarding Slytherin ringing in her ears _("Or perhaps in Slytherin, You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means, To achieve their ends.")._

Putting on a hat did seem to be less _trying_ than whatever Hope and Ron had imagined as Professor McGonagall began to read off names from a roll of parchment, starting with "Abbott, Hannah!", "Bones, Susan!", and "Boot, Terry!" who went into Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw respectively.

Professor McGonagall went through the names quickly, as the hat seemed to launch the House names out incredibly fast.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Ron groaned beside her as the bushy-haired first year was sorted into "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

A fair-skinned girl with pinned up blonde hair moved forward to barely sit on the chair, her blue eyes disappearing from view briefly as the hat called out "SLYTHERIN!"

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The last name of the boy who had lost his toad before on the train caught Hope's memory.

" _I don't understand," she said, "the Dursleys weren't my parents' first choice for my guardians?" If that was true, then why was she living with them?_

" _No," the goblin behind the desk said, "that would be your godparents, Alice Longbottom and Sirius Black…unfortunately neither are in a condition to care for you."_

_Hope took this to mean that they were dead._

Neville must've been Alice's son. He was positively white in nervousness when he sat down on the stool and had the Sorting Hat dropped onto his head.

It took much longer than Hope would've thought for the hat to cry out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

But it wasn't long until "Malfoy, Draco!" came along and was immediately followed by a yell of "SLYTHERIN!"

It seemed like ages before "Potter, Hope!" was called, and by then Hope's heart was hammering in her chest. What if she was put somewhere she didn't belong? What if she wasn't Sorted _at all?_ The butterflies in her stomach thickened into a swarm.

She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked through the now-small crowd of remaining first years, trying to ignore the whispers that had sprung forth at the merest mention of her name.

" _Potter_ , did she say?"

" _The_ Hope Potter?"

" _Ooh_! Look at that leg!"

She hoisted herself up onto the stool and permitted the hat to be dropped onto her head as well, the faces of those watching her disappearing as the brim flopped down over her eyes.

She had expected a sudden cry of one of the Houses to issue from the hat, but it did not happen as immediately as she had anticipated.

"Ah," it said in her mind, "a curious enigma, aren't you?"

Hope didn't really understand what he meant by that, just as she hadn't understood why George had called her "Mystery-girl". Everything about her was pretty cut and dry, if you asked her.

"A remarkable mind," the hat continued and Hope had a feeling as though he was scanning through her memories, if that was possible –she hoped not, she didn't like people riffling around in her head. "Quite loyal too, with courage, such courage! And a thirst to prove yourself…but where shall I put you?"

She didn't offer any input, keeping her lips tightly sealed.

"What?" the hat's voice had grown amused; if it had had eyes, she was certain they would be twinkling. "No preference?"

"What's the point?" she thought back, feeling particularly snarky. "Aren't you supposed to choose?"

It chuckled at her response, still amused; Hope wondered if he'd ever Sorted someone who talked back to him. "Analyze yourself, Miss Potter, look beyond the shell and gaze within to who you truly are."

Hope nearly fell off the stool, and would have done so if she had not grabbed the edge of the stool, so surprised by his words. She had never had to analyze who she was before, what if she didn't do it right?

Hope closed her eyes and took a short calming breath. The four Houses each had certain traits: courage, ambition, loyalty, intelligence…

She was intelligent in some matters, she supposed, though she hadn't been allowed to score very high on her tests in the Muggle school she went to with Dudley, Vernon and Petunia wouldn't have been pleased. She was, in a way, street smart, as it was termed, as she wasn't really the studious type; trouble and her went hand in hand. Loyalty…she wasn't sure about that one. Ambitious…well, perhaps she was a little ambitious, but not overtly so; she wasn't the type to step over others to reach her goals. Brave…she wasn't afraid of standing up for what she believed in, so she supposed that counted.

A soft chuckle told her the hat must have been following her trail of thoughts. She could swear the hat was smirking when it spoke a few last words in her mind, before speaking her house aloud. "Very good, you really must come visit me…Your grandfather may not be pleased, Miss Potter, but I will be sending you to…GRYFFINDOR!"

Her face lit up at the loudest cheer yet filled the hall and she made her way towards the table, sliding into the area next to Hermione Granger, laughing aloud as Fred and George did a little victory dance, yelling " _We got Potter! We got Potter!"_

Hope smiled widely as the hat was removed from her head and she limped towards the loudest table by far, and just like that, she completely forgot about the hat's comment about her grandfather.

* * *

Moonlight was streaming in through the window as Hope lay awake that night, her eyes turning silver to match it. It was impossible for her to sleep right now, with her nightmares bleeding through, of that terrifying blood-soaked tree that filled her with a fear she couldn't quite describe.

Hope knew it was irrational. It wasn't like when she sometimes dreamed about a flash of green and high-pitched laughter; she knew what that nightmare was from. This one she'd had as long as she could remember and she didn't know why or how she'd dreamed it up, she just knew that it terrified her.

Hope sat up in her bed, rubbing at her eyes. Her bed was the one closest to the window, something that pleased her more than she'd be willing to admit, as she had a perfect view of the clear sky and all of its stars.

Hope Potter, as many would later discover, was a lover of stars. Indeed, star-gazing had gotten her into trouble more than one time or another, including when she had sketched a large –and misshaped– constellation on one of her tests, thus earning her a detention for her troubles.

But Hope was not currently thinking of the stars, she was instead attempting to use the moonlight as a light of sorts, not knowing any spells to produce it herself, her fingers pulling a worn bit of parchment from an equally worn envelope onto which her name had been etched with a careful hand.

 _Hope_ , it read.

_If you are reading this then your mother and I can no longer care for you, as I have entrusted this letter to the goblin in charge of the Potter vaults and subsequent Head of Gringotts, Ragnok, to be given to you upon your entry into the Wizarding World._

_So, Happy Birthday at least ten times over, Hope, and I am sorry that I could not have stayed longer in this world for you or your mother._

_Voldemort is no closer to discovering our hiding place, to our relief, and I can rest easy knowing that you are in the safe care of either your godmother, Alice Longbottom, or your godfather, Sirius Black, my closest friend._

_Your mother is probably irritated enough with me –as she always is– for writing this letter; she thinks I am too pessimistic. So, I will offer you as much advice in as little words as I can manage._

_I once made the mistake of judging a Hogwarts House by their reputation alone, so I ask that you learn from my mistakes. Slytherin blood runs in our veins, you and I, and there's no telling if it will shine more strongly in you than any other Potter. The world is vast and full of wonder, do not ever think to limit yourself when there is so much to see and do. I pray that you are reading this in a time of peace and knowing that we loved you so gives you some peace of mind, at the very least. You are the greatest gift I was ever given._

_We love you more than there are stars in the sky,_

_Your father,_

_James_

Hope slid it back into the envelope and placed it on her bedside table, not at all tired. When she'd first read it, she'd burst into tears –not that she would ever admit to it– and Ragnok, being quite out of his depth, had simply sat in his chair, waiting for her sobs to subside.

"More than there are stars in the sky," Hope murmured to herself as she grabbed her cane lightly from its resting place before maneuvering around slumbering girls to reach the door. She could do with gazing up at the stars, even if she didn't know her way around the castle at all.

What girl didn't like a good midnight adventure, after all?

The common room had a very comfortable feel to it; squashy armchairs and tables, the walls were decorated with rich reds, with windows to allow moonlight to filter through. The large fireplace dominated one wall, adorned with the portrait of a lion.

"Oh, sorry," she said suddenly, taking note of the one armchair currently occupied, "I thought- _well-_ I thought I was the only one up."

She thought she wouldn't have to sneak past anyone to be specific.

Dean Thomas was his name, she remembered from the feast, and he was sitting with his legs crossed wearing checkered pajamas that were well-loved compared to Hope's ratty ones, a sketchbook in hand and a pencil that paused when he jerked upright.

"No, sorry," a younger Dean said quickly, , "I just—"

"—don't sleep well," they ended as one, pausing to stare at each other.

. His nightmares had been particularly bad and he'd needed air, he'd needed to get out and away -the insane desire to transform into a raven had sprung to mind even though he'd known it was impossible- so he'd come down to sketch, not expecting anyone else to be up.

"Dean," Dean offered her helpfully, "Dean Thomas."

Hope smiled lightly. "Hope."

She practically sank into an armchair to avoid the awkwardness that hung in the air. Seamus had told Dean all about the story behind Hope Potter's infamy, as Dean, being Muggle-born, was unfamiliar with most things magical. She hissed under her breath, rubbing at her leg that had been in a brace the last time Dean saw her.

Hope lifted the hem of her pantleg to see a jagged scar -one of many- across her leg that was red and puckered.

Dean must've made a sound because she said "Don't worry, it just looks like that when I walk too much."

"Does it hurt?" Dean asked curiously.

"Only when it's inflamed," Hope sighed. "Sometimes it twinges, but I think that's it just healing…I was on a lot of drugs when the doctor explained it."

She noticed his furrowed brow. "My cousin pushed me in front of a car a year ago," she explained helpfully and Dean gaped at her.

"Your _cousin_ pushed you in front of a _car?"_ He couldn't help but he aghast by it.

"Well, we don't like each other very much," Hope offered without a care in the world, like that made it any better.

"How are you still _alive?"_ Dean couldn't help but blurt.

A wide grin split across her face, warped by the shadows cast by the fire. "Dumb luck, probably." Her eyes seemed to darken to a black briefly before she looked around with interest. "Anyways, I'm gonna go exploring."

"On that leg?" Dean asked, a wince clear.

"A little pain won't stop me," Hope grinned widely, even as she stood gingerly, grabbing up her cane. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Dean parroted back, watching her carefully hop out of the portrait hole, before turning his attention back to his sketch: a twisted Elder tree with a thick trunk and gnarly branches, cut in a few places, burned in others, and seeping a fluid he knew was blood.

(One day he and Hope would talk of their shared dreams, but it was not this day)

Hope treaded carefully out of the portrait hole, the only sound that she made was the constant clicking of her cane meeting the floor as she climbed staircase after staircase until she found herself at a fork of two that she couldn't decide between.

"Take the left," a smooth voice to her left mentioned and Hope twisted violently to cast her eyes upon a handsome young man twirling a wand between his thin fingers. His eyes were a green, though much lighter than Hope's, and his dark hair hung loose around his face.

He smiled. "Trust me."

Hope wondered if that was the best idea as she glanced between the two staircases, but when she looked back the boy had gone. _How very strange…_

But Hope conceded to him, taking the one on her left and climbing it up to another corridor at the end of which she found a door that led out into the open air.

It was cold, there was no denying that, but it also had by far the best view, far greater than even the window in the girl's dormitory could ever hope to compare to.

Hope could see Sirius, the dog star, and the constellation Aquila, and more stars than she could usually see were visible, not hidden as they usually were by clouds gliding across the sky.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, transfixed by the heavens, but definitely long enough that she nearly lost feeling in her feet, and it was only then that she reluctantly left the tower to limp down the hall towards the staircases she had taken up to the tower in the first place, trying to remember which ones exactly they were.

Luckily, no one bothered her until she was nearly back to the portrait hole, and she froze, her grip tightening on her cane as she saw something ghostly pass in the nearby hall, a flash of pale skin and a dark cloak. It made her think first of the curious lad from before who had vanished so effectively that he must have been a ghost, but also of the man at the staff table that had glared at her when she had looked up. Hope couldn't imagine why…she'd never met him before.

She sighed. Making enemies on her first day; first Draco Malfoy, then him.

But she was distracted by a chiding voice that spoke from the darkness, startling her and sending a chill down her spine.

"My, my," it said. "Already sneaking out after dark, Miss Potter?"

She blinked a few times, a frown marring her lips slightly as she tensed her spine.

"A girl after my own heart," a second voice added as two boys stepped into the light, their grins the most obvious thing in the darkness.

Hope relaxed her posture, causing a white-hot flare of pain to shoot up her injured leg, something she had quickly grown accustomed to. She leaned her arm against the wall, and George was instantly apologetic.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Hope said through gritted teeth, releasing a tired sigh as the feeling faded. "You get used to it after a while…" She scrutinized them with difficulty; their pockets seemed to be bulging with something that she couldn't quite tell what it was. "Causing trouble already?" she guessed, recalling Ron's words about his prankster brothers.

The identical smirks bore down on her as their answer and she chuckled under her breath.

"So," Fred began.

"What're you doing—" George continued.

"—out so late?" they both finished.

She stared, bemused. "Do you always finish each other's sentences like that?"

"Always," they chirped.

Her green eyes twinkled in amusement, but she didn't comment on it.

"You never answered our question," George reminded her, the pair becoming thoroughly confused and quite curious when a growing flush of embarrassment appeared on the girl's cheeks.

"I was star-gazing," she admitted, brushing past them and towards the Fat Lady, leaving the Weasley Twins rather puzzled as to why she was star-gazing.

Fred arched his eyebrows at his brother who gave a noncommittal shrug in return, watching her for a moment.

"Need some help, Potter?" he inquired to the night as Hope struggled to make it into the portrait hole.

He walked towards her and Fred winked at him, crossing his arms and watching the show as Hope's cheeks darkened even more.

"Erm…maybe just a little," she said at long last, taking the hand offered to her, allowing her to pull herself up.

"Thanks," she said, ignoring the grin that had graced his lips.

"No problem," he said, "always happy to sweep a girl off her feet."

Hope scowled at him but her bright cheeks ruined the image as she limped towards the girls' dormitories grumbling about troublesome gingers.

Fred followed his brother inside, impressed by how red George had made her, something which George seemed vaguely startled by, even if he didn't understand how fascinated he could have been with the small girl he'd seen at the zoo.

* * *

Hope awoke early the next morning, surprisingly refreshed despite having fallen asleep past midnight, however, getting down to the Great Hall was a different matter entirely. She lost her way so many times that when she finally sat down at Gryffindor table –though mostly empty as it was still early– the muscles in her leg felt strained and she was breathing a little harder than before from the exercise.

She swallowed her pumpkin juice thickly as she spooned some eggs and sausage onto her plate.

"So, you like to stargaze?"

Hope choked on her eggs as a ginger-haired lad plopped himself onto the seat opposite her.

"Do you _ever_ give up?" she managed after taking a hasty gulp of her drink to clear her throat.

"Sometimes," George said, swiping one of her sausages, earning him a glare. "You know what I said about pretty girls yesterday." He was grinning as the heat slowly rose in her cheeks.

"That would make more sense," Hope snorted, "if I was actually pretty."

George's eyes narrowed slightly. "I think you're cute," he admitted, a light flush adorning his cheeks.

"Really?" Hope asked, vaguely startled by the prospect. She had yet to meet someone who didn't view her looks as undesirable. Jane Collins with her blonde curls and bright blue eyes had always scorned Hope and her odd dark red hair and too-green eyes and had been subsequently horrified when Hope turned up at school every other week with a different hair and eye color more appalling than the last. The mixture of disgust and horror on her face had pleased Hope greatly.

"Would I _lie?"_ George asked, his eyes blinking innocently.

"You look like you would," Hope said, scrutinizing him intently.

His grin widened. "You're catching on, Potter!"

Hope couldn't even resist rolling her eyes at that.

"I like the stars," she said suddenly, catching him unawares.

"What?"

She gave him a rather direct look. "The stars. You asked me about stargazing."

"Ah, I mean, yes, I did," George floundered and Hope's lips twitched. "I guess you'll like your Astronomy class, then."

"Astronomy?" Hope perked up at that. What girl didn't like star-gazing for school credit?

George expertly hid his sniggers behind his own goblet.

"You know you can ask him to leave if he's bothering you," a voice commented and both looked up as Ron dropped heavily into the seat beside his older brother.

Hope's eyes glowed with mirth. "He's… _manageable."_

"Manageable?" George squawked in indignation. "I am _not_ manageable, thank you very much!"

"Oh?" Hope's tone turned sardonic as Fred made his appearance at the table as sneaky as ever, delighting, it seemed, in how his twin was being ganged up upon. "Is that what you think? I think he looks quite manageable, don't you?" She directed her question towards Ron who grinned in response.

"Definitely," Ron said.

"Must you wound me so?" George cried with an air of drama. "I shall never forgive you!"

Hope arched an eyebrow towards Fred who was now sniggering.

"I think you'd best apologize," Fred said, his voice filled with humor. "Unless you want to see George get _really upset."_

Hope dubiously looked back towards George who was putting a great amount of effort into making his eyes shine with unshed tears.

She patted his hand with a simpering smile. "Try better next time," she told him sweetly.

"Is that a challenge?"

Hope stared at him. "Are you always this impossible?"

"Usually worse," Ron told her for his brother as Fred mimed something to his twin.

"See you around, Potter," George said, ruffling his younger brother's hair as he stood, moving to join Fred, causing a scowl to mar Ron's face as he glared, attempting to straighten his hair from the mess George had created. "Try not to get lost, little bro."

"Your brother is strange," Hope told Ron as he took George's vacated seat across from her.

"You don't even know the half of it," Ron said with a groan. "You're looking at their favorite prank victim…after Percy, I mean."

"I ran into them last night," Hope admitted, not in the slightest embarrassed to admit to sneaking out. "They were probably up to no good when I was heading back to the common room."

Ron goggled at her, aghast at her words; Hope wondered if she'd said something wrong. "You snuck out of the tower?" he asked, stunned.

His reaction only served to amuse her further. "Is that so surprising?" she asked, her mouth twitching into a smile.

"A bit," he confessed, "you didn't really seem like the type…"

Hope snorted. "I'm what you would call a 'troubled child' who's greatest skill is lock-picking."

Sylvar had given her a kit that was locked away in her trunk after finding out the Dursleys liked to lock her in her cupboard to keep her from getting into the kitchen after sending her off without eating. Sylvar had been furious and had given her extra food to make up for it, and _then_ she'd taught her how to pick locks.

"Really?" Light glinted in his eyes as he gazed upon her, impressed. "Can you teach me?"

Hope blinked in surprise and then she smiled widely. "Sure…it might take me awhile to find my picks, though, they're somewhere in my trunk…I might have left them in the library portion…"

Now it was Ron's turn to stare at her. "You have a library in your trunk?" he asked her incredulously.

"Yup!" Hope said, beaming proudly. "What girl doesn't have a proper library in her trunk?"

Ron could only mouth wordlessly at her for a few seconds before spooning porridge into his mouth in an effort to cover his disbelief at his friend as Professor McGonagall came along the Gryffindor table to hand out schedules.

"And Miss Potter," the older woman added after she had given Ron and Hope theirs, "sometime this week please make time to see the Matron, Madam Pomfrey."

"Who's Madam Pomfrey?" Hope asked blankly after she'd gone.

"She's a Healer," Ron explained, "they fix people up, you know when they're injured? She's in charge of the Hospital Wing."

Hope sighed, looking down at her leg and trying not to be offended by the idea that she needed to be fixed. _Besides, she didn't even know where the Hospital Wing was!_

* * *

The first few days of classes weren't so bad, in Hope's opinion. Charms and Transfiguration were demanding but not overly difficult –though Hope had accidentally turned her hair purple during Charms class, thus ensuing a discussion concerning Metamorphmagi (Hope hadn't even known there was a name for it) and having several of her year-mates asking her to do certain colors for her hair and eyes, which was annoying–, Astronomy was very fun, and Hope didn't mind staying up late for it, History of Magic was a bit of a bore, and Herbology wasn't too bad, and now Hope and Ron only had Potions class left.

Hope rather thought that the professor didn't much like her going off of the rather unsavory expression he wore whenever she was in his presence.

Thus, Hope's hair had darkened and shortened to a mess of black tousled curls and her eyes had turned hazel by the time the door slammed shut and the class began.

Up close, Hope thought he didn't look like much. His skin was sallow from potion fumes, his dark robes making it more obvious, and his lips curled into a permanent frown. His dark eyes flashed dangerously as they glanced over her in barely a second as he reached her name on the class roster, the immense dislike clearly perceivable and it confused Hope.

"Ah, yes," he said, his snide voice soft, almost dangerously so, but not quite, "Hope Potter. Our new— _celebrity_."

Hope's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, his lips drawing downwards slightly in a frown at his words. She felt slightly insulted by his words, and she carefully ignored the sniggers of the arrogant Slytherins that she had met on the train.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making," Snape began after he had checked every name for attendance. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquid that creeps through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads that I usually have to teach."

It was an enthralling speech, or at least, it would have been, had Hope been listening, but she was currently fascinated by the sheer number of potion bottles littering the room with varying colors and substances within.

"Potter!" He snapped out her name so suddenly that Hope very nearly jumped, making her eyes coming off a bit wilder than she had intended. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hope scowled at him, sulking briefly at how he was picking her out, ignoring how Hermione's irritating hand shot up off to the side of her and Ron. She wracked her brain briefly; she'd read something about that somewhere…she was sure of it…

"The Draught of Living Death…right?" she asked, half-expecting it to be wrong, but she was not, and he seemed surprised that she knew the answer, but it did not deter him from asking her more questions.

"And where would I find a bezoar?" Snape demanded, nearly snapping his fingers at her in an effort to make her respond faster.

"Inside the stomach of a goat," Hope recited, having read it in _Antidotes to Common Poisons_ , being a bit startled that someone would actually want to swallow a stone from a goat's stomach; sounded right disgusting, if you asked her.

And why was he just picking on her?

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Now, Hermione's hand was almost connecting with the ceiling as she had stood up. And Hope was stumped; she didn't remember those ingredients much…

"Oh, I don't know, Professor, perhaps you should ask Hermione instead," Hope replied with a touch of exasperation leaking into her voice. A few people laughed, and Seamus Finnigan winked at her; she gave him one in return, her lips twitching upwards slightly.

Snape wasn't too pleased, though, and proceeded to give them a lecture on where and what they properly were.

"A point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."

The second he turned his back, Hope stuck out her tongue in blatant disrespect, earning her an annoyed noise from Hermione, which she ignored.

The lesson went downhill from there, and Hope found herself wishing that she didn't have him as her teacher because, _clearly_ he had some unresolved issues to work out.

Sadly, Hope didn't have a lot of restraint at eleven years old and this was made quite obvious later in the lesson when Neville melted his cauldron with the potion that he had been working on with Seamus, resulting in having to be taken to the Hospital Wing _by_ Seamus.

This left Hope and Ron open for attack, as they'd been the pair working beside Neville.

"You –Potter–" He snapped to her and Hope couldn't say that she was entirely surprised. "–why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Hope was so furious that she ignored Ron as he tried to keep her quiet. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry!" she said with a sarcastic flourish. "It's not like I should have been paying attention to _my_ _own_ potion!"

"Detention, Potter!"

Hope growled, clenching her fist so tightly that her knuckles shone white. Hope had never hated a teacher, but as she stormed out of Snape's class half an hour later, she was sure she would hate him.

Her bag swung violently on her shoulder as she walked, even with her limp, leaving Ron behind, climbing the moving staircases as she dug out a bit of parchment from her pocket that had been given to her by Professor McGonagall earlier that day. On it were instructions of how to reach the Hospital Wing using the Great Hall as a starting point.

Today may have been the first day that Hope and Ron didn't get lost on their way to their classes but that didn't mean that Hope knew where the Hospital Wing was. She lamented to not joining Neville when he had to be taken to the room in question.

She sighed, her anger abating somewhat as she walked more and more, taking the stairs up to the third floor, turning left down the first corridor. It was surprisingly difficult to find, even with Hope's directions she found that she walked past it twice (which was pretty sad, considering how large the double doors were), a numb feeling running through her leg with every step from the force of her storming out of the dungeons not ten minutes earlier.

Her leg paid for her anger, unfortunately.

Hope shoved the parchment into her pocket with her only free hand, the other tightening over the cane as she pushed one of the doors slowly to peer inside.

"Er…hello?" she called into the silence, stepping more completely into the room. It was quite large, she supposed, though the other classrooms were perhaps a similar size, if there was an absence of desks. A number of simple hospital beds with white sheets lay on either side of the room for students if and when they fell ill or were injured.

There was a small back office from which a woman appeared as if summoned by Hope's voice. This woman, Hope assumed, was the Matron, Madam Pomfrey.

"I was wondering when I'd be seeing you, Miss Potter," she said, and whatever Hope had been expecting, it wasn't this. The Matron was a stern-faced woman with crow's feet at the corner of her eyes from smiling and laughing and her hair was tied in a much less severe bun than Professor McGonagall's was, though all the hair gathered into the bun was grey.

"Er, hello," Hope repeated, swallowing slightly as she looked up and down the woman, "you're the…Matron?" It was still a strange term to Hope and she said it slowly, in case she was wrong, but she doubted that.

"I'm Madam Pomfrey," the woman said, inviting her forward, her eyes focused on the leg that had been giving Hope trouble for a long time. "I understand you were in an automobile accident?"

"Who told you that?" Hope asked in surprise, pressing more of her weight down on her cane.

Madam Pomfrey nearly laughed. "You might have told Hagrid, but he's not exactly well known for keeping his mouth shut."

"Oh," Hope said with a bit of embarrassment. Hagrid had been surprised by her leg brace and cane so Hope had had to explain as best as she could manage how she had attained such an injury. "Right…of course he did."

Hope tried hard not to sigh, but it wasn't as if no one wasn't aware by now that the Girl-Who-Lived was a _cripple_.

As if that was a _bad_ thing.

Hope didn't like the word, but being injured as she was meant people underestimated her. Hope couldn't have put all those tacks on the seats _because of her leg_ , she couldn't have turned three of her teachers' hair different colors _because of her leg_ …the list went on.

"I was expecting you to come in earlier," Madam Pomfrey admitted.

"Well, I'm not really known for being on time," Hope said with a shrug, gesturing towards her leg.

"Your father never was either," Madam Pomfrey lamented.

Hope looked up. "You knew my dad?" she asked.

"Well, he was a Quidditch player," Madam Pomfrey said with a light chuckle, "they always manage to find themselves injured in _some way."_

A smile twisted onto her lips at the mention of her father.

"Would you lie on the bed, please?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "I'd like to run a diagnostic spell on you."

Hope spared the Matron a curious glance before relenting and moving to sit upon the mattress, stretching her legs out against it, one hidden under the bulky brace.

"This won't take more than a few seconds," Madam Pomfrey assured her, "and it won't hurt a bit."

" _Great_ ," Hope drawled out as the older witch pulled her wand, earning her a rather bemused smile in return. She did not need to speak a spell, but Hope's leg glowed blue, so one must have been cast. Hope supposed this was more advanced magic than first years were taught.

A moment later Madam Pomfrey leaned back, replacing her wand once more as straightened.

"I could use a spell to hasten your healing," Madam Pomfrey informed her, "but I think it would be better for you to recover on your own. Your leg is healing up nicely, and I'd rather not interfere with the healing process if it can be helped."

Hope had to say that honestly, she hadn't been expecting some miraculous cure, even given that she was now living in a world of magic. And she honestly hadn't wanted one. The idea of someone using magic on her, even to fix her leg, made her violently uncomfortable.

"That's fine," she said as more of an afterthought, her mind drifting slightly.

"You won't be needing that brace anymore," Madam Pomfrey added.

"Really?" Hope asked in surprise, looking down at her leg.

"Yes, if you want to get the full use of your leg back," Madam Pomfrey said seriously.

Hope gave a mournful sigh. "Alright, then," she said, removing the annoying brace from her leg and handing it to the Matron who placed it on an empty bed.

"Of course, I'll want you to come back every so often so that I can check to see that your leg is healing the way it should be, if that's alright?" she inquired of the Potter.

"Fine," Hope muttered in an almost dejected manner, "I suppose that's better than having to be in here all the time."

"I suppose so," Madam Pomfrey said, her lips twitching just slightly. "I'll be seeing you again soon, Miss Potter."

"Yay," Hope said with as much enthusiasm as she could manage, but despite her attitude, she left the Hospital Wing in much higher spirits than she had entering, making her way down to the Library with difficulty to finish an essay. Something told her Ron was going to wait until the last minute to finish his, but that didn't mean that Hope had to do the same.

The Library was included in one of the few places that Hope actually knew how to find, though this meant a bit of backtracking since Hope hadn't really come up to this part of the castle before.

But, before long Hope found herself sitting at one of the worn tables, parchment before her, ink staining her fingers as she scrawled words across it, referencing two books on basic Transfiguration, trying her best to ignore the whispers that followed her everywhere she went in the castle. It was by far the most annoying thing about her year thus far.

The essay wasn't too difficult, considering the one that Snape had given them was probably going to take her all night, if she had to wager a guess.

She could tell that she was going to have an undying hatred for the subject as long as he taught it.

The essay took surprisingly little time, and soon Hope stoppered her inkwell and shut her books, replacing them back where they belonged. She glanced over to one of the tables, the one that was closer to the front than Hope's had been; she was still there.

The blonde hair gave her away, bound in a tight French braid that couldn't hide her face. Daphne Greengrass, Hope remembered her name was from the Sorting Ceremony, a Slytherin, but Hope didn't much care for disliking people based on their House (though many did not share the same sentiment, she knew well).

Daphne had come in the library around the same time as Hope, but now Hope could see that she hadn't had as much success as Hope had with finding a useful book for that Transfiguration, if the scowl marring her face was any indicator.

Hope looked at the book cradled against her side, then at the girl, then at the bookshelves. And then Hope made a decision that surprised many in the vicinity.

She took her book and walked slowly towards the table, dropping the book onto the table before the blonde, making her jump rather violently, startled blue eyes rising from the parchment to look at Hope.

Hope couldn't resist smiling, though it was halfway between apologetic at how she had startled her and amused at how she had responded to Hope dropping the book. "Sorry," she said, "just thought you'd want this for the Transfiguration essay."

Wide blue eyes stared up at her, stunned that Hope was even talking to her, before Daphne remembered her manners.

"Er…thanks," Daphne finally managed to say.

"No problem," Hope said in a slightly cheerful manner, pulling her bag a bit more up on her shoulders and gripping her cane under her hand, moving with a dignified limp –if that were even possible; Daphne suspected it might be– towards the entrance to the Library.

It hadn't occurred to either of them that that was the first instance of civility between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin in over a decade. And it certainly wouldn't be the last time the Gryffindor and the Slytherin conversed.

Hope was barely around the corner into a second hallway when she had to blink rather suddenly when her feet were lifted from the ground and she found herself with her arms around George Weasley's neck and her legs around his waist. Amusement and embarrassment warred on her features as she tried to gain the function of her tongue once more.

"Weasley, are you this sweet to all the new girls?" she asked in a would-be-light voice, winking to Fred who sniggered behind his hand at his twin's antics.

"Just the pretty ones!" George informed her in an equally light voice, making her cheeks burn as pink as they had the last time he'd said something similar.

"Mr. Weasley! Miss Potter! _What in the name of Merlin are you doing?!"_

Three heads twisted to the right to see a stunned Professor McGonagall who was startled, appalled and straight up exasperated. Putting James Potter's daughter with two pranksters was never a good idea.

"We're going on an adventure!" Fred said, striking a dramatic pose. "And the fair maiden is not permitted to walk, so we have brought this mighty steed to whisk her away!"

"I know you didn't just compare me to a horse, Freddie!"

"Oh, I think I did, Georgie!"

Hope couldn't help but burst out into peals of laughter at the combined antics of the twins and the expression coloring Professor McGonagall's face.

* * *

Professor McGonagall wasn't sure what she should have expected when she looked upon the three figures standing before her desk. Two were grinning shamelessly and one gave off an air of innocence that she doubted suited her.

Fred and George Weasley were covered in multicolored paint, the same paint that had been smeared across Hope Potter's cheeks. It appeared that Hope had been the one to prank the pranksters and the boys had retaliated by taking some of the paint she had lobbed at them and smudged it across her face.

James would have been so proud of his daughter taking up the noble art of pranking, or so he had thought at the time.

Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the trio.

"A prank war does not mean that you can cover a corridor with paint," she told them.

"In all fairness," Hope piped up, her face remarkably unrepentant under the paint, "it's not that much of the corridor."

Fred and George sniggered.

"Be that as it may, Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall said shrewdly, "you and your accomplices will still be cleaning it up until the corridor gleams."

" _Accomplices?"_ Fred squawked. "We're _innocent_ here, Professor! We were minding our own business—"

"A likely story, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall remarked with an arched eyebrow. "As the saying goes, it takes _two_ to tango."

Hope didn't bother hiding her snort. " _Innocent?"_ she scoffed. "Doubtful."

"My dear Hope," George cried, raising a hand to his chest as though injured, "your words cut like knives!"

"I'm sure," Hope said dryly in return.

Professor McGonagall very nearly sighed at the antics of all three of her students. "Report to Mr. Filch's office. He will give you cleaning supplies." She took out her wand and siphoned off the paint they were currently wearing on their skin and clothing so that more paint wouldn't stain the floor as they cleaned up their mess.

Hope gave a jaunty wave as she left, limping after the two third years, and not ten minutes later the three could be found with mops and buckets and rags.

"Well done, Potter, didn't know you had it in you," Fred told her with an approving nod that made her laugh.

"Thank you so much for approving of my rebellious streak," she returned with a grin. "But you're lucky I didn't take a picture of the looks on your faces when all the paint landed on you two."

"Very devious," George complimented, "no wonder I liked you."

Hope turned away, stabbing the mop against a stubborn spot of paint in an effort to hide her blushing face.

George smirked at Fred who grinned in return. If only Hope knew that George was purposefully trying to make her blush anytime they were together; it was kind of hilarious…though Fred would never admit that to the Potter heir, he doubted she would take kindly to it.

But it also wasn't purely for fun. Fred knew George well enough to know what he was thrilled whenever she fired back. Just like Fred also knew that George thought Hope looked particularly cute with her cheeks flushing like that.

"Did you think I wasn't going to get even with you for last week?" Hope asked after a moment, once the stain had gone so that she could move to another spot in the empty hallway. "After that horrible shade of green that you turned my hair?" She gave them a rather baleful glare and both boys turned rather sheepish.

They had been trying to see if they could come up with something that couldn't be changed by a Metamorphmagus –unfortunately, they had not succeeded, and thus earned paint-bombs to their clothes and skin for their efforts.

"We were just testing out a new product," Fred said innocently.

"And now that we know it doesn't work on you," George continued.

"—it's back to the drawing board," they said together, causing Hope to slap her hand to her face so soundly that she left a red mark on her forehead.

"You're _impossible!"_ she decided.

Both Weasleys gave cheery bows in return and all three glanced up from their work of cleaning at the sound of approaching feet to see Ron come around the corner.

He looked over his brothers for any trace of paint. "Did the paint not work?" he asked his friend, ignoring the offended looks his brothers gave him for apparently rooting for the other side, as it were.

"Oh, _no,_ it worked," Hope said with a grin, "right up until Professor McGonagall found us chucking paint at each other."

Ron stared at her and then at his brothers, and then back to her. "I'm not sure I should even be surprised anymore," he said at long last.

"It's best not to be," Fred agreed.

"Though we do enjoy when we surprise you, dear little bro," George added with a grin.

"One day it's just going to be me and Ginny here," Ron told him sourly, "and then I won't have to put up with the pair of you."

"Oh, look, Georgie! I think Ronnie's getting annoyed with us," Fred said with a snigger.

"Nah, can't be," George disagreed, "we're too much fun…right, Hope?"

Three pairs of blue eyes fastened on Hope who had been dutifully staying out of the sibling conversation up to this point.

She raised her hands in surrender. "Don't you turn this on me! I've got _nothing_ to do with this!"

Hope squeezed one of the rags over the bucket as she scrubbed at the last of the paint left behind by her sudden attack. Well, if there was one thing for certain that she could say it was that she had one-upped the Weasley Twins in the most glorious way. And she certainly held bragging rights for the rest of time for doing just that.

And then she stood, humming softly as she did, lifting the bucket off the ground as she clutched her cane, rolling her eyes at how the Weasleys were still conversing.

_Brothers…_

* * *

Angelina Johnson could honestly say she had never met someone like Hope Potter in her whole life. No one had ever managed to prank Fred and George and get away with it. Though Angelina suspected that it might have had something to do with the pair being fond of anyone with a rebellious streak, and that included Hope.

She spent every other day in detention, it seemed, with Snape, and from the rumors Angelina had heard, Hope and Snape didn't get along _at all._

But Angelina could also see that she was the first girl that George had ever shown any interest in, and was subsequently the only girl who mocked him.

Their relationship was half-way between strange and cute. Angelina wasn't sure if they really counted as friends with how they talked to each other, it could almost be considered flirting.

"Hand it over, Weasley!" Hope demanded, her cheeks bright pink.

"Not on your life, Potter!" George said with a wide grin.

Angelina wondered if they knew about the betting pool Gryffindor House had started. She and Fred were jointly betting on Hope's third year; it was a general consensus to not date until you could actually leave the grounds (now if only she could convince him to take her out to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer…). Lee Jordan thought she could hold out until fourth year, but Angelina doubted that. Hope would know when she was caught, that she was sure of. Even if Hope was remarkably resilient, Angelina had noticed how her smile often met her eyes whenever Fred and George (though, generally only George) cracked a joke.

Currently, the pair was making quite a scene by George holding her book over his head –and he was already quite a bit taller than her– and she used her cane to elevate her upwards, but it didn't seem to be working, only serving to annoy Hope further. Angelina knew better than to take the pair seriously; it was obvious they thought of it as a game, much to the disgust of Ron.

She secretly believed the youngest Weasley boy to be a bit envious of how casual she was with the twins, but he never said a word on the matter. Ron saw her more than the twins, anyways, since she and Ron were two years behind them.

"If you give it to me, I'll tell you how I pranked you," Hope coaxed, her smile on the sly side. The newest prank was a bit spectacular in that she had actually managed to prank them without them having any knowledge of it until after it happened. For the whole day, their robes had changed color sporadically, and each color was more outrageous than the last. Hope had told Angelina that it was a rather simple spell, if Fred and George bothered to look for it.

The book was in her hands within seconds.

"—Later," she finished, the smile widening when the twins gave identical groans.

Ron snorted at her words, but he still raised his hand so that they could high-five.

"How does it feel to be played, boys?" Hope said, resting her hands on her hips.

Fred's pout was more pronounced as Angelina laughed with them.

"You two," Angelina called over to the only first-years that weren't scared of getting pranked for hanging out with them, "Your flying lessons start today, don't they?"

The mention of flying had an instantaneous effect; Ron grinned and Hope grimaced. Angelina was slightly surprised by Hope's response, as she had once had to clean the trophy room for a detention in second year (why she was in detention when she was generally so mild mannered, no one would ever discover) and the name James Potter was on a plaque for Quidditch Players of Winning Teams.

"Worried?" Lee guessed from where he sat with his legs looped under the stone bench, on which his crossed arms supported his head. It was a strange way to sit, but no one commented on it.

Hope laughed uneasily, shifting her weight uncomfortably as she did so. "It's just that I don't like making a fool of myself," Hope had to admit, "especially in the air, and _especially_ in front of Malfoy."

It hadn't been hard to pick up the resentment between her and the Malfoy scion. The pair practically threw insults at each other when they passed the other in the hall (that resulted in both being put in detention for a few days by Professor McGonagall who hadn't been very impressed).

"Not making a fool of myself in general would be nice," she concluded as an afterthought, looking strangely resigned, as if she was used to making a fool out of herself.

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Alicia Spinnet assured her, closing her book on her Charms essay. "Better than Lee or Fred and George; they tripped over thin air, if I recall correctly." Her dark eyes glinted as she smirked at the three males who started at what she had revealed.

"Don't tell them _that_ , Alicia!" The twins wailed, appalled, but Hope cracked a grin and Ron burst out into laughter.

"Well, here's to hoping we don't do serious damage to ourselves," she muttered under her breath. "We'd better go, Ron," she added in a louder tone, "wouldn't want to be late."

Once they were out of earshot, Ron asked the question that was bugging him.

"Did you really prank Fred and George again?"

Hope snorted. "Yes, is that surprising?"

"Very," Ron admitted, staring at her with something akin to awe. "People don't generally _try,_ seeing as they would never get away with it, let alone do it _twice_."

That seemed to amuse her, because the smile she tossed his way was very light-hearted, even as they strode across the lawn to the area opposite of the Slytherins. Draco Malfoy was quickly becoming one of the most irritating creatures she had ever had the unfortunate opportunity to meet, such as the instance when she took up residence beside a free broom.

"Perfect Potter finally shows up for class," he said with a distinct sneer.

"Class hasn't started yet, _moron_ ," Hope said coolly, "but I guess your education didn't cover telling time, did it?"

Malfoy's cheeks turned pink and he opened his mouth to retort as a few of the Gryffindors sniggered at the insult when Madame Hooch, the flying instructor blew her whistle, signaling the start of class.

When Hope had first caught sight of her, she had likened her to a hawk, and she wasn't wrong. With her grey hair and yellow eyes, she looked far more stern-faced than Professor McGonagall did.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she demanded, the irritation seeping into her voice as if they should have already known what to do even before she spoke. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Hope's gaze shifted downward to her broom. It didn't look very impressive, and she was certain that she didn't want to ride something that looked like it had been roughly taken from a tree. Hope had had a front seat when Fred and George had complained about how handicapping the school brooms were. Riding something that was clearly unstable was not in her top ten things to do before she died, but Hope sighed, dropping her cane to the grass as she did as instructed.

"Stick out your right hand," Madam Hooch continued as if she hadn't seen the many uneasy glances between her students, "and say 'up!'."

A chorus of " _UP!_ "s filled the air, and Hope was faintly startled when her broomstick shot into her hand instantly, but those that did were few in number. Some didn't even bother moving; maybe some people were just meant to keep their feet firmly on the ground.

She couldn't resist laughing, however, when Ron's smacked him in the face.

Once they'd all managed to get their brooms into their hands –some ended up just grabbing the broom from the ground once Madam Hooch turned her back–, their instructor began to teach them how to properly grip and mount the broom. She did allow herself a small amount of mirth when Malfoy was told he'd been flying incorrectly for years; _karma's a bitch, isn't she?_

"Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off the ground, hard," Madam Hooch ordered, glaring at them all. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle–three–two–"

She didn't have time to blow her whistle when Neville accidentally pushed off the ground too soon. It was quite obvious that he was completely terrified, so Hope couldn't help but wonder if yelling at him was going to get him to comply.

Neville was shooting upwards much like a rock shot out of a volcano, at that height, Hope doubted he could hear anything but his own whimpers of fear.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch yelled despite Hope's thoughts.

The yell, it seemed, could still be heard, because he gave a startled gasp and slipped from the broom to fall a good twenty feet to impact with the ground with a dull thud. Hope was sure she wasn't the only one that winced.

Their flying instructor was at his side in a moment as the Gryffindors watched anxiously and the Slytherins sniggered behind their hands. Hope listened intently for a few seconds, garnering that he'd broken his wrist a bit badly. That was never fun; Hope had that happen to her when she was nine, it made completing assignments a bit difficult.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital Wing!" Madam Hooch's glittering eyes surveyed them all as if trying to glare them into compliance. "You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say " _Quidditch_ ". Come on, dear."

Not two seconds after she and Neville were out of earshot did Draco Malfoy burst into laughter, cruel laughter, Hope thought with a frown. What kind of person laughs at another person's pain? But this was Malfoy she was talking about; every bone in his body was _rude and ignorant_.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" He demanded through laughter as his fellows joined him. Slytherin really was a rather unpleasant lot, weren't they?

"Shut up, Malfoy," a voice snapped. Hope was almost surprised that it was Parvati Patil that had spoken; she had hardly heard her speak of anything that wasn't fashion-related, but right now her eyes were icy-cold.

Hope did her best to ignore the Slytherins, but she caught Daphne's eye and the girl rolled her eyes obviously to her. Clearly, she didn't approve of her classmates either. Hope's lips twitched in response.

"Look!"

This time, Hope did look, and instantly, her eyes narrowed into a glare; Malfoy was clutching Neville's Remembrall in his pale hand.

"It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him!" Malfoy jeered, lifting it up for all of them to see.

"Hand that over."

Hope's voice had taken on a quiet and a dangerous edge. The tone itself should have been a warning, but Malfoy it seemed was incapable of complying to warnings whether or not they were clear to see. It was times like these that Hope liked to fondly remember all those detentions she'd earned in Muggle school for her…explosive behavior.

Maybe he hadn't heard her.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere up high," he decided with a nasty grin that didn't much suit the nice weather they were having today. "How about in a tree?"

 _"Hand it over!"_ she snarled, but Malfoy had already taken flight, hovering above a rather tall oak tree that Hope would have probably climbed if her leg hadn't been so badly damaged.

"Come and get it, Potter!"

The jibe was there, waiting–

"Or are you as slow in the air as you are on the ground?"

Hope schooled her usually expression-filled face into a calm mask as she threw her leg over the broom and pushed off from the ground with more force than she probably should have. She could feel the gust of wind hitting her face, rustling her hair, and swirling around her as she rose and _instantly_ , she knew flying would be one of her favorite pastimes; who didn't want to feel as if they were higher than the world?

"Hand it over," she repeated once again, her voice remarkably cool, "or I'll knock you to the ground and break _your_ wrist while I'm at it."

"Oh, yeah?" Malfoy demanded, but his face was a little pale, because Hope was looking completely serious when she administered that threat to his well-being (though she was rather well-known for giving death threats and not going through with them). "Catch it, then, _if you can!"_

He really shouldn't have pressed his luck when Hope flew past him in the direction he had thrown the palm-sized ball. The ball was nearly invisible, but Hope could see the light glancing off it as it was flung through the air. She sped the broom between her legs forward, the noise around her blurring into nonsensical sounds. The world fell out around her as her focus sharpened; it was only her and that stupid clear ball of Neville's (he was going to owe her for this, she swore).

She ducked into a graceful dive, triumph coloring her face when she pulled up, the light orb clutched in her hand. That triumph faded rather abruptly, however, when she heard the yell of "HOPE POTTER!"

She opted for a single word response that she felt summed up the whole troublesome situation. _"Shit."_

* * *

The next day Hope was so tired that she and Ron almost didn't wake up at an adequate time due to the events of the previous night.

And it was all because of some botched midnight duel that she hadn't been much keen on to start with. By some miracle she'd managed to not be expelled for her actions the day before during the flying class–though she doubted one could really be expelled for a short fly– and even more miraculously had managed to land a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia had been impressed when they had heard the story from Ron –whom had elaborated on several parts, she'd noticed but had been too lazy to bother correcting him.

The attention they had paid her made her cheeks pink. But today she could hardly keep her eyes open as she attempted to eat her breakfast, and ended up resting her head tiredly on Lee Jordan's shoulder.

"I am _never_ doing that again," she decided resolutely in exhaustion, her voice low and quiet as she contemplated dumping the milk jug on Ron's head, since it was _his_ ludicrous idea. " _Worst_ idea you've ever come up with!"

"On the bright side," Ron continued over her, "you can't say Fred and George have ever done something like that before."

"What haven't we done?" a pair of nearly identical voices inquired of them, announcing the arrival of Ron's older brothers.

"Had a midnight rendezvous go south, so south, in fact, that you nearly get eaten by a three-headed dog," Hope said in a remarkable deadpan. Neville and Hermione had been with them at the time (not by their choice, of course) and seemed as though they never wanted to go out at night anytime soon; a wise course of action, Hope thought, given the first time they had done so, they had run into what appeared to be a Cerberus.

"Well, no," Fred admitted in agreement.

"But who would we have to meet in a midnight rendezvous?" George added, giving her another one of his winks.

She gave him, in return, one of her baleful stares. "One day, Weasley," she muttered under her breath, slapping both of her cheeks so she could wake up a bit more, "I am going to one-up you, just you wait."

"I look forward to it, Potter."

She smirked. "Oh, you do, do you?" Her smile was a bit on the sly side. "I would like to see you _try_."

"Don't say that!" Ron hissed, his voice halfway between humorous and annoyed. "Now he'll be even more insufferable!"

"Has anyone told you that your eyes are unbelievably beautiful?" George asked instead, ignoring their friends and smirking as her cheeks burned a bright red.

"I am going to kill you," she threatened mildly, standing up so that the height difference wasn't quite so pronounced. "And I bet your mother will agree with my reasoning."

"Oh, _yeah?"_

"Yeah."

The pair was leaning so close together that they were practically nose to nose, but, of course, they didn't notice this.

"You've never met my mother," George said with a smirk.

"Doesn't matter." Hope's eyes sparked an identical blue that made his face light up.

"If you two are _quite_ finished with your flirting," Alicia added, giggling when the pair jumped back like they'd been burned. "Hope, Ron, don't you have class?"

" _Oh!_ " The first years made identical noises of surprise and scrambled to collect their things, bidding them a hasty farewell and racing –and limping– off to class, cursing themselves for not keeping track of time.

* * *

Hope's bad day started on the thirty-first of October. She didn't much like Halloween for obvious reasons, since it was the day her parents were killed, but Ron made it worse with his big mouth.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

Hope glared venomously at Ron who looked vaguely startled to be on the receiving end of such a look as Hermione barreled past, tears pouring from her eyes.

"You have no tact whatsoever," Hope told him before moving as fast as she could with her limp after the bushy-haired brunette. This was rather difficult given that Hermione was rather fleet-footed even with a heavy bag of books.

"Hermione! Hermione, wait!" Hope called, almost losing her before finding her as she pushed her way into a lavatory.

Hope sighed as she followed after her rather belatedly. She peered cautiously inside, entering quietly at the sound of sobs coming from the only closed stall.

"Hermione?" she asked gently.

" _G-go aw-aw-away!"_ a voice sobbed from beyond the door, but Hope didn't listen.

"I'm really sorry about what Ron said," Hope told her with an earnest tone that couldn't have been faked.

Hermione said nothing, the only sound that could be heard coming from her was her crying so Hope settled herself on the ground, waiting for Hermione to calm down. It wasn't as though Hope actually had anywhere to go; Charms had been their last class and there was another half an hour until the Halloween Feast.

"Are you still there?" Hermione asked in a small voice after a short while had commenced. Hope couldn't be sure if the feast had started yet or not.

"Still here," Hope said.

"W-Why?" Hermione hiccupped. "You don't even _like_ me!"

Hope scowled in a bit of irritation. "I don't _not_ like you, that would take too much work. I don't like Snape and Malfoy, they've got a category to themselves."

Hermione choked on a small laugh.

"I don't do well at having friends," Hope admitted, "I'm used to being alone, thinking about myself and all…having friends this year is a bit new to me and sometimes I don't really know how to deal with people."

Hermione said nothing, but Hope got the feeling that she was listening intently.

"You're so smart and clever that it's kind of intimidating," Hope told her.

"Sorry," Hermione said meekly.

Hope scoffed slightly. "Why apologize? There's nothing wrong with it, you just threw me through a loop, that's all."

"Oh." Hermione swallowed on the other side of the stall, slightly pleased at how Hope said there was nothing wrong with being so smart.

"I think I just fit in with boys better because I'm so troublesome," Hope said with a shrug, "girls are just crazy, especially the ones at my old school."

The ones at Hermione's school always made fun of her for her teeth and her smarts, always stealing her homework.

"I liked to freak them out by changing the color of my hair every other day," Hope told her. Hermione could hear the grin in her voice. "They were all so _scandalized_."

A small giggle was released from Hermione's lips and following that was a short stint of silence.

"Did you want to go up to the feast?" Hope asked her.

"I-I think I just want to stay here," Hermione said, her words weak as she waited for Hope to get up and leave. She peered through the crack in the door, but Hope hadn't moved. "Aren't you going?" she asked.

Hope shrugged. "I don't really like celebrating the day my parents were killed," she said wryly.

It was almost easy to forget about Hope's parents when her name was so well-known to the general Wizarding public, but it was just as easy to remember who had to die in order for her to gain the title of Girl-Who-Lived.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said sincerely.

"It was a long time ago," Hope said with a sigh, leaning back so that she could feel the wall through her shirt, "I barely remember it…them… _whatever_ …" Hope twisted the serpent ring on her finger. "So, it looks like we're both going to be here for a bit…I could read you something, if you want."

Hermione blinked her eyes red from crying. She hadn't expected Hope to offer to read to her; it made her wonder what she would read.

"I guess," she said, listening to the sound of Hope rifling through her bag and the sound of parchment being flipping through.

" _It began as an idea and slowly grew into something so much more,"_ Hope read. _"Broomstick travel is so tedious even to those of us that are in still in our youth. Morea, my love, prefers travel over earth than by air, as it is. Thus, Flashing was born._

_Flashing is a name for a new magick I have created which will be used in order to move from one place to another instantaneously. The act of moving from one destination to another will be so fast that it seems as though a flash of light has appeared."_

Hermione rather thought what was being described was something similar to what the Muggles liked to call teleportation. Perhaps the book from which Hope was reading was describing the first attempt at such a magic.

" _Morea fears I am spending too much time in my study working on this magic, however I believe it is well worth the effort, else I would not risk the wrath of my lovely wife,"_ Hope read, amusement lighting her voice as she read the words on the page. _"It, like many magicks is controlled by mere thought. To wish is to be. I can only hope I succeed when I test my theory on the morrow. It would be a shame for my wife to be told her foolish husband twisted himself into nothing before our first anniversary…"_

* * *

Ron sat alone at the table, sulking as he picked at his chicken, hardly eating anything, his stomach roiling.

"You look like you're going to be sick," a voice commented to his left and Ron looked up as one of his brother's plopped himself into the seat beside him. It was George; he was the kinder of the two.

"Where's Hope?" he added. "Shouldn't she be sitting with you?"

Ron frowned. "I may have said something about Hermione," he admitted.

George arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Something not very nice?"

"Yes," Ron said sullenly.

"So, Hope went to comfort her and left you alone," George guessed. "Sounds like a fair trade, if you ask me."

Ron scowled slightly at his brother, but it wasn't as though he could deny the truth.

"You know when Ginny gets upset when she doesn't get to fly with us," George said, "and you say she can't because she's a girl?"

Ron nodded.

"And then Mum makes you apologize for upsetting her?"

"What're you getting at?" Ron asked.

"I'm saying that it might be best to apologize to the girl," George told him with a rather significant look that Ron was sure he'd picked up from their father.

"I guess it was rather mean," Ron had to concede, making George grin as he ruffled his hair, much to Ron's eternal annoyance, standing to move back towards where Fred and their Quidditch teammates and friends were sitting.

Ron was about to stand to do just that when he was quite distracted by someone, as was the whole Hall.

The distraction came in the form of Professor Quirrell, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who barreled into the hall, nearly out of breath with a face so white and the turban that he normally wore perfectly straight over his head was nearly loose and almost falling off as he skidded to a stop before the Head Table.

 _"Troll,"_ he choked out, hysteria evident in his voice, " _in the dungeons!_ Thought you ought to know." And then the professor's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell forward to collapse on the ground, unmoving.

Ron knew very well what a troll was, as most Wizarding children did, given that if you were compared to one it meant that you were thought to be large and stupid, not at all endearing. Surely trolls were too stupid to make it into the castle, though? Weren't there protections against that?

Fear swirled in his stomach as chaos erupted around him, the fear spreading like wildfire across the Hall from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor table and it took a bit of effort by the Headmaster to regain a semblance of order.

"Prefects," Professor Dumbledore called out into the silence, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Then there was a scramble to comply to his words, resulting in four different Houses trying to leave the Great Hall at the same time, and by the time Ron had forced his way out of the hall Percy's voice had grown distant as he led the first years along with the rest of the House up to the Gryffindor Tower.

And then a thought occurred to him. Professor Quirrell had said that the troll was in the dungeons, and his and Hope's last class of the day had been on the first floor and he'd watched Hope take the first staircase down to the dungeons when she was following after Hermione…

Ron wanted dearly to smack his own forehead with his hand. The two probably had no idea there was even a troll in the dungeons! Oh, what should he do? Ron contemplated briefly before making a sudden decision to follow the first Hufflepuff he saw –remembering what Fred and George had said about the Hufflepuffs common room being in the lower parts of the castle– following them down as far as he dared before ducking into the first empty and dark corridor he could find. He was almost caught by an older Hufflepuff, only managing to evade at the last second.

He knew his way around the castle more now, given that he'd been walking around in it for nearly two months now, and he was almost certain that the girls' lavatory was down the hallway and to the left so he rushed forward, making for the room in question when he was forced to hide behind a suit of armor at the sound of footsteps heading his way.

His first thought was a prefect, but it was Snape, and instead of staying in the dungeons he had taken the first flight up to the third floor, however, Ron didn't have much time to think on this, becoming thoroughly distracted by the horrible stench filling the air that didn't bode well for Hope or Hermione (or even himself).

And that was when he saw it and Ron nearly gagged at the sight of the monstrously tall misshapen grey-skinned creature with a large club held in his hands.

Ron had never seen a troll before, but he was sure that that was exactly how it was supposed to look.

He floundered on what he should do before he was spurned into action upon the realization that the room that the troll had just wandered into was the girls' bathroom.

And then he didn't really have time to think as he ran down the corridor towards the room from which a loud scream had pierced the air.

It didn't take much to guess that the owner of the voice was Hermione Granger.

_Why, oh, why did it have to be a troll?_

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he entered into the room was that the troll had done a lot of destruction in a short amount of time.

Hermione Granger was attempting to make herself as small as possible, looking as though she would keel over any second, her robes covered in dust and ripped by shards of porcelain from the shattered sinks. The troll, on the other hand, wasn't stalling in its lumbering movements towards her.

There was movement from under the broken wooden pile that could have only been from what used to be the bathroom stalls. With difficulty a head of dark hair –though, this didn't mean much as Hope had a habit of changing her hair color more than the average witch was willing to, so Ron thought it was better to memorize her face and voice than anything else– appeared as Hope forced her way halfway out of the pile.

"Distract it!" Hope called over to Ron, fortunately causing the troll to stop, but unfortunately its attention then shifted to Hope who turned as white as a sheet once she realized she was in its gaze.

"Oi, pea-brain!" Ron yelled on the fly, clearly not coming up with a very witty insult as he threw a metal pipe at the troll's shoulder. The troll didn't seem to notice the pipe, though it did hear Ron's voice.

That distraction gave Hope just enough time to pull herself fully out of the rubble to struggle into a standing position and limp badly around the troll to half-drag Hermione from the corner, trying to head for the door, but she was very resistant, staring at the troll in open-mouthed horror. That didn't really help their situation much, if you asked Hope.

"Come on, run!" Hope commanded, tugging harshly on Hermione's arm.

The yells echoing off the tile wall seemed to drive the troll insane as it twisted its head violently, quickening towards Ron, until Hope did something similarly insane: she had released Hermione and done a stumbling run and by some miracle had managed to link her arms around his neck. The downside: she'd accidentally shoved her wand up his nose; she imagined this was rather painful going by how it yelled, moving its body and club in such a way that Hope was sure it was going to be the end of her short life when Ron did something that she later swore she'd kiss him for.

He raised his wand and said: " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The club lifted from the troll's grip to hover in the air above its head before smashing into the skull of its owner with an ominous and sickening crack. Its eyes rolled up and its whole body collapsed, sending Hope sprawling and coughing, her whole body aching.

It was hard to say who was the most stunned, but Hope was sure she was the most in pain as she struggled to stand. The carnage was a haze of color, blurring together so that Hope had to lean against the wall to remain stable, feeling very much like she'd gone through the wringer.

"Is it-dead?" Hermione asked haltingly as Hope attempted to steady her heartbeat.

"Doubtful," Hope gasped, "more likely it's knocked out."

Ron pulled Hope's wand from its nose making a disgusted sound as he wiped the bogies on the troll's trousers before handing it back to his friend. "Are you alright?"

"Let me catch my breath," Hope said in exhaustion, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, pressing a hand to her heart in an effort to manually slow the frantic beats under her palm –this did little good– and Hope hoped that these incursions into her life weren't going to be constant, she didn't think her heart could handle the stress.

The Fates weren't really working in their favor it seemed, but then, she supposed, they probably had been making quite a racket with their yells and screams (this was including the troll, mind you, who was quite obnoxious with its noise). Somehow, Hope was a bit surprised that the professors hadn't shown up before then. Those moving staircases must not have been very cooperative.

Hope blinked thickly a few times, her vision clearing enough to see that Professor McGonagall was the angriest she had ever seen her, but Hope wasn't too perturbed; they hadn't done anything wrong, really. Hermione and Hope had been minding their own business when the troll had wandered in and Ron was the unsung hero.

 _"What on earth were you thinking of?!"_ she demanded, the fury in her voice echoing in the silence so loudly that her tone was nearly a shriek. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

"I was thinking," Hope said suddenly as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, "that if Ron hadn't come looking for Hermione and me, we'd both probably be dead." Her tired eyes were focused rather blearily on the ground, and it was then that she noticed the rip of Snape's robes, barely exposing the obvious bite mark on his leg.

"And why would you and Miss Granger even be here in the first place?" Snape asked snidely, his lip curling into a sneer.

Hope shifted her gaze upwards to glare at the man who had had it out for her since day one. Was he really going to blame this on her and Hermione? "I believe it would be something along the lines of recovering composure, _sir_." Her voice had grown as cold as it had when she was addressing Malfoy only two days previously. She wondered why Snape flinched at it, though, that was a bit curious by itself.

Ron looked vaguely uncomfortable and he murmured a quick and belated apology to Hermione, who, though still in a bit of shock, was grateful all the same.

Professor McGonagall seemed to have calmed down somewhat, though she appeared to still be heavily annoyed with them. Again, Hope felt the need to mentally point out that they really hadn't done anything wrong, not that their teachers could read her mind...or could they? That would be something interesting to look up. "Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could take on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor House five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Ron helped Hope into a standing position, and after a quick search found her cane, and the three set off towards the common room. No words were spoken between the three as they stood before the Fat Lady. The awkward silence settled down on them.

"So," Hope said quietly, "is this the part where we hug and make up?"

They both smiled as Hope gave the password and entered the room, following her after a second had passed. By then Hope had already been swept away by one of her Quidditch teammates, Angelina Johnson who was inspecting her face closely. "Ah, hell, what have been doing to yourself? George, keep an eye on her, I'm going to grab some things."

"Got it, Ang!"

Hope's cheeks filled with color as she was suddenly lifted over the older boy's shoulder much like a fire-fighter. " _Hey-hey-hey_! What're you _doing_?! Put me _down_!"

Ron snickered at her predicament and even an amused smile spread across Hermione's face.

"George! _Hey!_ You're _not_ helping!"

Before Ron or Hermione even had time to blink, George had practically chained her to Angelina's vacated armchair.

"Alright, Ron?" Fred called from the couch, glancing quickly over the boy as if searching for injuries, but it seemed that Hope was the one most prone to injuries, and thus, while Ron and Hermione had escaped the troll attack unscathed, Hope looked much like she had gone face first through a window. The cuts to her face were quite extensive, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't been sent to the hospital wing, but then, this _was_ Hope she was talking about. The only times where she hadn't gone voluntarily to see Madam Pomfrey occurred when she was forcibly carried there by either of the twins –who were consequently the only ones strong enough to carry her and ignore the derogatory comments spewing from her mouth at the exact same time.

"Fine," Ron said, slumping tiredly into the empty seat beside him. "How does a troll get into Hogwarts, anyways?"

"Well," Hermione spoke, her voice quiet from her encounter with the troll, "there are supposed to be enchantments that protect the entire school, hiding it from prying eyes."

"It's protected by blood wards."

Three pairs of eyes stared her and Fred snorted. George was smushing her cheeks in his hands where she wasn't cut. He seemed to be trying his hardest to annoy her, if you asked Hermione.

"George..." Hope's eyebrow twitched slightly.

He grinned.

She pulled his hands from her face (Hermione noticed George didn't let her hands go, his grip a little tight; he must have been worried about her) and turned her attention on Ron. "Blood warding is one of the oldest forms of magic in the world, the protection they offer is...substantial," she explained as the stares turned on her, a pale, barely noticeable flush dusting her cheeks. "My house has blood wards around it, but they're a bit different. Blood wards are the highest protection you can get; it's why Curse-Breakers have such a hard time breaking into tombs. Only an exceptionally powerful wizard could rip a hole in that kind of barrier."

"So," Fred continued, surprisingly subdued, "someone inside the school let it in, that's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"It does seem very likely," Hope admitted, her eyes locking with Ron's for less than a second, and in that instant, he was sure he'd read her mind.

The Gringotts break-in that had occurred on her birthday was a source of intrigue. Hope had said that the day Hagrid had taken her to Gringotts; he had removed something from a Vault 713, a small package. Whatever it was, it was worth something to someone if they went so far as to attempt to burglarize Gringotts. "Hogwarts business" was what she'd said he called it, so did that mean–? His eyes widened slightly and hers twinkled in return.

It took him a bit, but he was still a bit smarter than the average student. He noticed no one else had been able to theorize as far ahead as Hope, but then, no one had her inquisitive nature.

_"Ow!"_

Angelina had caught her off guard as she pressed what must have been the magical equivalent of Hydrogen Peroxide against the cuts on her face. "Holy _Hell!"_

"Oh, stop whining!" Angelina admonished the girl, but grinning all the same. "Don't be such a baby!"

Hope couldn't help but pout, making Ron and Hermione laugh, and they weren't the only ones.

* * *

The first thing that Hermione had learned about Hope Potter was that she was very easy-going. She was very amicable with her Quidditch mates, some on the level of how she spoke with her or Ron. Ron's brothers in particular, she'd noticed quite early on. The gentle teasing that occurred between her and Fred and George was a bit surprising; she hadn't thought they'd be people she would be friends with.

Hermione could tell when they were off on a prank, because Hope ran point, distracting Percy by picking his brain about the limitations of the metal a needle could transform into, or perhaps even why plants that were considered muggle weren't used in potions? They were really good questions (things that Hermione was curious about as well), and somehow the prefect didn't see through her misdirection because of how honest her face was.

The second thing that Hermione noticed was that Hope went up to the Hospital Wing every week to see Madam Pomfrey so that the older woman could make sure that her leg was healing up properly and that Hope wasn't overstressing the still-recovering muscle. Hermione hadn't noticed before how sometimes Hope would wince when she walked in a certain way.

But nothing got past Madam Pomfrey who seemed to know instantly when Hope had been walking around too much.

And this time Hermione joined Hope and Ron in the Hospital Wing, watching in slight apprehension as Madame Pomfrey tapped her new friend's leg in several places, the wand tip glowing slightly, illuminating her bare skin strangely. The scar on her leg -the bit that she could see, as she knew there were more further up- was a bit on the obvious side, with a jagged dark pink line marring across the front of her shin, but when Hermione blinked, she thought it looked a bit smaller and less cringe-worthy. Madame Pomfrey winked surreptitiously to Hermione, noticing how she had seen what she had done, before falling into a focused mask.

"Alright, now I want you to stand on your leg for as long as possible," Madame Pomfrey said, wanting to see if there was a change since the last time Hope had come in, to the girl who wrinkled her nose in distaste, but stood all the same, balancing with difficulty on her damaged leg. Ron held onto her cloak –since it was made of a heavier material than her uniform– and bag for her, being surprisingly patient.

It seemed her initial assessment of the youngest Weasley wasn't quite correct, but that didn't surprise Hermione, as Ron had been friends with Hope since they shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express on September first.

The seconds ticked by slowly as Hope's countenance faltered and exhaustion lined her fair face, clearly not much liking this exercise. Hermione hadn't even realized she was holding her breath until her chest began to hurt.

"I've got this," Hope grumbled to herself, probably not wanting Hermione or Ron to hear, so they pretended they hadn't, before pitching forward rather suddenly so that Hermione and Ron had to grab her elbows to keep her from face-planting into the floor. "Okay, maybe not," she admitted once they'd hoisted her back onto the infirmary bed, slightly breathless.

"Not quite, Miss Potter," Madame Pomfrey informed her with a curt voice that was similar to Professor McGonagall's in several ways, "but you are making much progress, faster than I could have ever imagined, perhaps by the end of next year you will be completely healed, if you're lucky."

"I can be very lucky," Hope said optimistically, her grin hopeful, her eyes bright.

Ron tried his best not to snort, but it came out strangled; Hope already had the worst luck than anyone he'd ever met. He doubted she would be lucky in this regard, but he wasn't going to say that to her face.

Though it didn't matter much, as Hope shot him a filthy look, interpreting the hidden snort accurately, looping her bag over her shoulder and stalking weakly out of the hospital doors to ram right into another body, sending her tumbling backwards gripped her face and groaning from the contact. "Aw, _dammit_ , Weasley!"

Fred laughed from where he and George and Lee happened to have been passing on their way to class (or skipping, you could never really be sure with those three).

"It's not my fault you fall over yourself whenever I'm around," he replied with a grin that made his brother roll his eyes and friend snigger behind him. Though, if you asked Hermione, George looked slightly more annoyed.

"Oh, really?" Hope replied, arching an eyebrow, faintly amused at his antics, as she always was concerning the Pranksters of Hogwarts. "That's some delusion you're having, Fred."

"How'd you know I was Fred?" the twin asked in surprise; even their mother got it wrong sometimes, but Hope was on a roll, no slip ups yet.

Hope's eyes twinkled as she grinned up at him. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good."

George gaped at her. "How d'you know about that?"

Now all three first years were staring at them oddly. "Know about what?" they all asked with varying degrees of skepticism and confusion.

"Oh, er, _nothing!"_ Fred said quickly, waving his hands frantically.

"Gotta run!" George added just as feverishly.

"Forget about that," Lee added.

And then the two twins dragged Lee away and beat a hasty retreat, leaving three pairs of eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are they always that odd?" Hermione voiced after a few moments.

"Pretty much," Ron said tiredly, "though they seem to have taken Hope as a personal challenge."

She rolled her eyes at them. "Oh, don't worry, they just appreciate my tenacity for trouble."

"I don't think that's a good thing," Hermione said slowly, but Ron just laughed and shook his head.

"Just go with it. She's not going to change anytime soon," he advised. "Hey, Hope! Wait up!"

"Time and tide wait for no woman, er, or man!" Hope called over her shoulder. "And neither does our next class!" She added with a quick glance to her watch.

 _"Oh!"_ Hermione quickened her pace to catch up them, determined not to lose her friends so soon after gaining them.

* * *

"I think I'd prefer a staff."

"I'd still fancy a wand."

Professor Filius Flitwick had heard many a strange conversation during his tenure as Charms professor at Hogwarts, but this topic was one he was certain he had never come across; whether a staff was better to use for spellwork or a wand was.

And it was even stranger when one knew that this was a first-year class and a conversation between Hope Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

"Merlin had a staff," Hermione offered helpfully.

"Yeah, but where're you going to stuff it when you're not using it?" Ron demanded, his forehead creasing slightly as he raised his wand, incanting the spell that they had been learning in class. _"Lumos!"_

The tip of his wand lit briefly before the light stuttered and faded. Ron, predictably, scowled at the wand that had once belonged to his brother.

"You'd just shrink it and shove it in your pocket," Hope replied, rather unconcerned as she tried her hand at the spell, only to have her own light flicker out as her attention wavered and she caught sight of her short-statured professor. "Professor Flitwick! Can you help us?"

"Having trouble with your charm, Miss Potter?" Professor Flitwick asked, bouncing forward on his feet.

"We were wondering if it's better to use a magic staff or a magic wand," Hermione said, leaning around Hope to ask the question.

"Hm," the small professor hummed thoughtfully. "I can't quite be certain."

Ron and Hope groaned, clearly the two opposing sides of the argument, whilst Hermione seemed to be the voice of reason.

"It is true that staffs fell out of favor in the twelfth century," he continued, gaining their interest once more, "and there is some debate as to whether the wand is truly stronger than the staff, but I'm sure you'd find that it is the caster of spells that makes all the difference."

"Cool," Hope said, before her eyes drifted towards the wall and she raised a hand to her mouth in surprise. "Oops…"

Professor Flitwick turned around to stare. Hope hadn't quite been paying attention where her wand was pointing as he had explained this and had caused what appeared to be a poplar tree to sprout from the floor, its white branches spreading outwards.

The Charms professor turned back to Hope whose face had enflamed, turning her hair a bright ginger.

"Sorry," she said apologetically as Ron sniggered beside her and Hermione attempted to silence her own giggles.

"Perhaps it would be best to be wary of where you are pointing your wand, Miss Potter," Professor Flitwick suggested.

"Yes, sir," Hope said a bit meekly.

He turned away, causing the poplar tree to vanish with a wave of his wand, causing a chatter from his students.

"Back to your spells," he said, "anyone who doesn't manage to light their wand once will have to write a three foot easy on the benefits of such a spell."

There was a scramble by his students to light their wands before the end of class five minutes later.

"Alright, forget about the whole staff-wand thing," Hope said with a careless wave of her hand, a bright smile worming its way onto her lips as she grinned at her friends. "You won't _believe_ what I found last night!"

"When you snuck out of the dormitory again?" Hermione asked, straightening her bag over her shoulders as they walked through the corridor, keeping their voices slightly low so others would have to try a bit harder to be heard.

"I regret nothing," Hope said, her nose high in the air before grinning once more, "don't you want to hear about what I found?"

"Is it a secret room?" Ron asked, screwing up his face slightly in thought.

"No," Hope told him, "it was a _talking_ suit of armor!"

"But none of the suits of armor can talk!" Hermione said, aghast.

"This one can," Hope said, "and he can tell riddles! C'mon, I'll show you!" Hope grabbed Hermione's wrist and began dragging her through the left fork and Hermione grabbed Ron's elbow so he wouldn't be left behind (though the chances of that were rather low, especially when one considered how slow she was with that limp of hers).

They didn't travel very far before stopping in front of the first suit of armor that Hermione and Ron had seen in the hall.

"Sir Michael Richmond," Hope introduced, waving a hand towards the armor, "Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."

"A pleasure," the words were spoken in a rustic tongue and both Ron and Hermione jumped.

" _Bloody hell!"_ Ron said.

"Not quite," the armor said, clearly amused by his reaction, "if only you'd been in my presence during a full moon."

Hermione goggled and Ron took a step back. "You're a werewolf!"

"Was," Hope corrected, "you can't really transform without a body…isn't that right, Michael?"

"Indeed, Milady," the armor said. "Did you return for another bout of riddles?"

"Maybe," Hope wheedled.

"What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?"

"The letter M," Ron piped up, moving forward cautiously.

"What fastens two people, yet touches only one?"

"A wedding ring," Hermione said, knowing that one from a book she'd once read.

"When one does not know what it is, then it is something; but when one knows what it is, then it is nothing," the suit of armor said.

Hope frowned, opened her mouth briefly, but then shut it just as quickly. "I don't know this one."

"It is a riddle," the armor informed her.

"How typical," Hope said dryly, before turning back to her two friends. "Cool, huh? When can you actually have a conversation with a suit of armor?"

Ron and Hermione had to concede to her there, though Ron thought it was a little strange that the armor had called her 'milady' (even if she was the heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House). Perhaps he was familiar with her family?

But Ron didn't have the chance to ask her before they headed out towards Great Hall for dinner.

* * *

"I've got this, Oliver, thanks," Hope told the older boy with a bit of a dry tone.

Oliver Wood was the Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as Hope had learned last week after she had been dragged away from flying lessons by Professor McGonagall. He was a fifth year and built more strongly than Hope could ever dream of being.

"Make sure you get some extra sleep tonight," he was warning her.

"Yeah, yeah," Hope said, barely managing to resist yawning in front of him as he disappeared up the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitory.

"He is _such_ a worrywart!" she complained flopping back onto the couch, pulling her potions essay towards once more. She was halfway done, Hermione was nearly finished beside her, but Ron had barely started his and he was already dozing in the armchair.

"I suppose it's because it's your first game?" Hermione suggested; sports weren't really her forte.

Hope grumbled under her breath, releasing a short swear when a ginger head seemed to pop out of nowhere; Hermione glared at her.

" _George!"_ she growled in near-aggravation as his antics had nearly upended her inkwell and would have consequently ruined the essay she had worked so hard on. "You complete and _utter_ —"

"Handsome prat?" George offered with a wide grin.

"I dunno whatever gave you _that_ delusion," Hope told him stoutly and Hermione hid her giggles behind her book. "I'm busy, you know, unless you know the best way to cut a sopophorous bean…"

"No, you're doing it wrong, you've got to crush it with the flat side of the blade."

"Eh?" Hope gaped at him, startled that he was actually offering some help. "But it says cut!" she said, stabbing a finger at her potions book before shoving it under his nose.

Hermione generally didn't pay attention much to the banter (though she would more closely relate it to flirting, but she opted to not say anything) that was common place between Hope Potter and George Weasley, but since this one was about a school subject, she listened in.

"Well, I'm telling you to crush it," George responded in amusement, propping his elbow on the back of the couch and leaning his cheek into his fist surveying the person that brought his cheekiness and joking nature to the surface in every conversation they held. "More juice comes out if you crush it."

"You're having me on," Hope decided.

"Would I lie?"

That comment earned him a rather unconvinced look in return. "Do you want an honest answer to that?" she drawled out.

George rolled his eyes. "You got your potions supplies?" he asked a brief second before riffling through her bag to pull out her silver blade and two sopophorous beans. "Alright, cutting..." He showed her a difficult time of cutting the bean which released only a small amount of juice, before crushing the second one, releasing a great deal more juice.

"Amazing!" Hermione breathed in surprise, scrawling it into the margin of her potion's revision (having completed the essay while Hope and George were talking).

"And you came up with this all by yourself, did you?" Hope asked the third-year dubiously, canting an eyebrow at him.

"Potter, must you wound me so?" George asked her in a dramatic manner. "You know I never do anything alone! I've got the other half of my soul!" Fred, who must have been half-listening to their conversation from where he was sitting across the common room with Lee, Angelina, and Alicia winked at her unamused stare.

 _"Of course,_ you do," Hope sighed, rubbing at her eyes to keep the sleep at bay as she turned her eyes back to the paper before her. "You're not going to go away, are you?" she said after a moment.

"You're catching on, Potter," George said with a grin.

"Or maybe you're just predictable," Hope fired back.

Hermione just sat back and watched, brown eyes flicking from one to the other; it was like watching a tennis match. She didn't think she'd seen anyone act the way those two did, and she still wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

If you asked _her_ , George had a bit of a crush on Hope who would've had the same on George if she wasn't in such a muddle of confusion about her feelings.

* * *

Hope did not sleep well that night, as it was on the eve of her first Quidditch match, and her worries were clinging to her heart with razor sharp claws and grip that could not be shaken free. What if she didn't catch the snitch? What if she disappointed her team? What if she disappointed Professor McGonagall? What if… What if… There were so many different fears fluttering inside of her.

And then there was something else entirely bothering her, and it had nothing to do with the Quidditch match that would soon be taking place.

" _Look beyond_."

Those words echoed in her ears like a dull bell that tolled for hours on end. She didn't understand them at all. She hated not understanding things.

" _Analyze yourself, Miss Potter, look beyond the shell and gaze within to who you truly are_." Those were the words of the Sorting Hat, but she had a feeling that they weren't his. She opened her eyes, moving so that she was flat on her back on the bed, staring above her with a blank expression, before twisting on the mattress as if searching for the perfect spot to lie, but there wasn't one.

Look beyond…did it mean to see past disguises? Or perhaps to not take things for granted? Even her speculations sounded weak and feeble in her mind, and what was that jibe about her grandfather, anyways?

" _Your grandfather may not be pleased, Miss Potter, but I will be sending you to…GRYFFINDOR!"_

Hope's cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's, filled with air that she expelled silently in the quiet.

Finally, she couldn't stand it, and she threw her covers from her body and limped painfully down the stairs to the common room. She was a little surprised to find that it wasn't completely empty.

Neville Longbottom had found himself plagued by persisting nightmares, and, feeling trapped in his dorm, had made his way down the stairs to sit on the window seat. The peace and quiet seemed deafening; he couldn't stand it about as much as he couldn't stand his nightmares. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he jumped rather wildly when a soft voice said, "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Sorry," Hope apologized, when he twisted violently towards her, "I didn't mean to scare you." Her lips twitched slightly.

It was strange to see the Girl-Who-Lived out of the school uniform, that was the first thing he thought. Rather unlike him, her pajamas were mismatched with loose blue checkered bottoms that were so long they dragged on the floor and ratty shirt that hung loosely on her frame. The moonlight crossed her face, painting her hair with stardust and her cheeks with a silver blush.

It was equally strange to see her alone, but this could hardly be surprising, considering how late it was. Still, it was rare to see her out of the company of Ron or Hermione (the trio was practically inseparable these days) or the Weasley Twins who had taken a keen interest in her soon after she had arrived. Neville had opted to stay out of the betting pool concerning her and George.

He wouldn't have imagined that she was the type of person that would be awake at odd hours of the night or even be someone that would talk to him.

"Er…it's fine," he said a bit breathlessly from his embarrassment, "yeah, sit…I mean, if you want to."

Her smile was a bit on the indulgent side, it reminded him a little of his Gran.

"Nightmare or can't sleep?" she inquired, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. The lightning bolt scar on her forehead seemed to gleam in the darkness, clear as day against her forehead.

"Nightmare," he admitted.

Hope nodded in understanding. "I am no stranger to those." Neville felt grateful that she didn't ask him what it was about.

"You're Frank and Alice Longbottom's son, aren't you?" she asked, feeling like she already knew the answer but she thought it was best to ask anyways.

Neville's whole body went cold and his heart dropped into his stomach as his head flashed up, his eyes meeting hers. Her eyes were dark and somber.

She had never been in the situation he had, but she too had grown up without a parent's guiding hand, and he'd heard stories about the muggle family she'd been raised by –her mother's sister's family, he was sure–, like how her cousin had pushed her in front of a car (he didn't know what that was, but from Dean, he'd gathered that it was an object that could move at fast speeds) and caused her leg to be the way it was. He wasn't sure who between the two of them got the worst deal.

"I read about the Lestrange Trial in the _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ ," Hope said quietly. "I'm sorry about what happened to your parents."

Neville had never heard someone sound so completely downtrodden concerning his parents.

"Alice was my godmother, did you know that?" she asked out of the blue. "I only just found out when I was at Gringotts a few months back, they told me what happened to her and her husband."

Neville didn't say anything to that. What could he?

"Do you visit them often?" she asked.

"Every Christmas," he said, equally as quietly.

"Would you…" her voice faded slightly as her indecision, before it faintly revived, "next time you see them, would you tell them that I say hi?"

Tears pricked Neville's eyes as she asked that question.

"Why?"

"Why not?" Hope asked unperturbed, making Neville stare at her. It was times like these that he had to remind himself that Hope had been raised by muggles and as such viewed the world a bit differently.

"They…" His throat closed up, and he couldn't seem to force the words from his mouth.

"They won't understand?" Hope guessed in a wane manner. "Maybe they do, maybe they don't, but it's the thought that counts, Neville. What if they can hear and can understand but just can't speak or move in the correct way? Wouldn't you like to tell them things, anyways?"

Neville bit the inside of his mouth, but she wasn't wrong. Maybe he would try talking more next time, they might like that.

"Goodnight, Neville."

"G-goodnight!" he called after her quickly, watching as she used the furniture to help her to the stairway that led to the girl's dorms. "Good luck tomorrow!"

She just waved a casual hand airily, disappearing upstairs and leaving Neville to his thoughts.

* * *

The next morning Hope was a bundle of nerves and her hair had turned the color of snow, her eyes becoming impossibly black.

In short, Ron thought, she looked like a mere gust of wind would blow her over, which sounded a bit appropriate description, given that she would be taking to the air soon.

"Hope," Hermione said gently, tapping a nail lightly against the wood table. "Have you eaten anything?" She knew that she hadn't, but she asked anyways, more to get Hope to talk than anything else.

"I don't want anything," Hope said, her fork pushing the eggs around on her plate.

"Just a bit of toast," Hermione suggested.

"I'm not hungry," Hope said, dropping her fork onto the plate with disinterest.

"You'd probably just puke it up on the pitch," Ron added, earning him a glare from Hermione. _"What?_ It'll probably happen!"

His words did nothing to calm her nerves and Hope's grip on her new broom tightened. It was the newest model, a Nimbus Two-Thousand that had been given to her by Professor McGonagall upon her making the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, but Hope had never played on it during an actual match. What if she screwed up?

The beaded strand of her hair (today red and blue for some strange reason) swung back and forth like a pendulum.

It seemed like an age had passed before Fred said, "We should probably head out," and Hope, following her teammates, filed out of the room with Hope moving at a much more leisure pace than her companions.

The only thing she could hear was the blood rushing past her ears.

"Nervous?" an all-too-familiar voice asked and Hope didn't even need to glance up to know that it was George.

"No," she said automatically, to which he simply raised his eyebrow at her.

"Maybe a little," she conceded.

The other eyebrow arched.

" _Fine_ , a lot," Hope sulked slightly at being caught out.

"Don't worry," he said bracingly, "everyone gets nervous."

Hope released a choked laugh. "Did you?"

"My first game? Definitely," George said, wrinkling his nose slightly. "I don't remember much of it."

"Why's that?" Hope asked with curiosity.

"I mistimed with my bat and completely missed the Bludger," George admitted, "got myself knocked out of the air and was out in seconds."

This did not help Hope in calming herself down. She paled and looked away from him.

"On the upside," he continued, "I never made that mistake again."

He winked at her and a faint flush appeared on her cheeks. "Just stay out of trouble and you'll be fine."

She threw him an unimpressed look. "Sorry, I've gone these past three months thinking whenever people talk about 'Trouble' they were talking about you."

" _Touché_ ," he said in reply as the three Chasers and one Beater in front of them tried very hard not to laugh so that they wouldn't give away that they were listening, but it didn't really work very for them and Hope settled on glaring daggers at their backs.

But they still sped up their walk until they were in the changing rooms of the Quidditch Pitch and Hope was very nearly left behind, much to Hope's irritation.

When they were all settled in the locker room, Oliver began his pep talk for the game, which Hope had been well aware of weeks in advance as her teammates had seen fit to inform her of it on several separate occasions as well as including the warning of "try not to fall asleep when he's in the middle of it, it really irritates him."

Hope wasn't the only one who looked tired, though. Katie Bell, the Chaser that was a year behind Angelina and Alicia was rubbing furiously at her eyes while the two other girls blinked dazedly and the Weasley twins looked on, staring slightly blankly.

Hope was almost certain they would come around once Oliver started talking or once they had to head out onto the field.

It seemed as though a certain length of time had passed before Oliver even began his speech and Hope swore that she almost fell asleep right there, only to snap to attention at the sound of his voice.

"Okay, men," he started.

"And women," Angelina felt the need to interject.

"And women," Oliver had to agree. "This is it."

"The big one," Fred added cheerfully.

"The one we've all been waiting for," George added in a similar manner.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Fred informed the green-eyed girl who tried hard to contain her sniggers but failed, so she opted to hide them behind her hand.

"Shut up, you two," Oliver said in a weary voice that clearly said he had spent far too much time trying to rein the twins in than doing anything else during Quidditch practices. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

The way he was glaring at them was enough to threaten bodily harm if they lost which Hope was almost certain he might do if such an occurrence came into play.

"Right," Oliver said, practically vibrating with excitement (about as much as Hope's heart was throbbing in her chest). "It's time. Good luck, all of you." He gave Hope a rather significant look that did not help Hope as she dropped her cane to the ground and looped her broom over her shoulders, and expelling a long breath, a bit more of the blonde colour coming back to her hair so that it didn't look nearly as much like it was off-white.

And then she took a step out into the bright sunlight after Fred and George. At first, all she could hear was the sound of cheering that echoed around the pitch from all sides, but when Hope squinted her eyes, the world around her cleared and she could make everything out as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

The fourteen players circled around Madam Hooch and Hope found herself opposite the Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs. Oliver had said that the Seeker was a pretty decent player –as opposed to the rest of his teammates–, typically playing by the rules more often than not, but he was also very good.

Both Seekers narrowed their eyes at each other, sizing one another up. Hope imagined she didn't look like much, but _obviously_ smaller packages packed a bigger punch.

"Mount your brooms, please," Madam Hooch called out and the fourteen players did as asked and only after they had done so did she release a short and loud whistle that began the game as all the players kicked off of the ground and the balls were released.

The next few minutes passed in a blur to her, but this mostly had to do with the fact that Hope was feverishly searching for a golden ball the size of a walnut, the Golden Snitch.

Even so, she had to say that she liked the _Potter for President_ sheet that was fluttering in the wind; she was going to have to thank Dean later for that; it was really a well-painted image of a lion, and Hermione's spell –it must have been– made it even better. The best part, she had to admit, though, was Lee's commentary. He never failed to make her laugh, much like his friends.

"Looks like Hope Potter doesn't have much to do but duck those nasty Bludgers! You lads be jealous –she winked at me this morning!" Laughter bubbled from her lips at that. She had almost been expecting this kind of behavior after how he'd been buttering up to each of the Chasers since the game had begun.

"JORDAN!" Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall didn't seem to appreciate it as much as Hope or many of the other Houses who clearly thought the dark-skinned Gryffindor was hilarious, if the loud laughter was any indicator.

"Sorry, Professor," Lee apologized swiftly, not meaning it in the slightest, "just telling it like it is!"

Hope rolled her eyes in midair, before swiftly dodging a well-placed Bludger, luckily Fred was around to wing it in the opposite direction, aiming the furiously rocketing ball in the direction of Marcus Flint, though Hope wasn't sure if it made contact with the Slytherin.

"Alright there, Hope?" he called over the wind.

Hope opened her mouth to say something in reply when a Quaffle hit her hard in her chest. It wasn't hard enough to break bones or knock her out of the air, but enough that she noticeably had the wind knocked out of her and had to cling to the shaft of her broom in order to stay on.

"A cruel barrage of a Bludger and Quaffle nearly unseats the Gryffindor Seeker, but, wait, was that the Snitch?"

The Quaffle, though it had recently been thrown by Slytherin, was back in Slytherin's possession once more, only to be dropped at Lee's exclamation.

Hope's eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area, catching it in the corner of her eye. A beaming grin spread across her face as she directed her broom downwards, bumping her shoulders into Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs in an aggressive movement. She probably could've –and would've– done more if the keeper hadn't blocked her, sending her spinning off course, forcing her to lay flat against her broom. After it had stabilized, she noticed –to her annoyance– that the Snitch had disappeared once more.

"Figures," she grumbled under her breath, adding in a few choice swear words that would've had Petunia washing out her mouth with lye, and would've earning her a glare from Hermione and a laugh from Ron.

"So-after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!"

"I mean after that open and revolting foul—"

_"Jordan, I'm warning you—"_

"Alright, alright," Lee conceded. "Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone I'm sure –but don't be too surprised if he gets subjected to a public prank– so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play. Gryffindor still in possession—"

The next Bludger grazed the side of her head, burning over her hair and telling her just how close it came to hitting her by doing so. Once it had passed, though, she pointed the broom to the west, intending to start up her search for the Snitch there, when her broom gave a frightening lurch, moving against her will.

Her heart rate increased with terror –she was a hundred feet or so above the ground!– and her fingers went numb from how tightly she was holding onto the broomstick now. Every time she tried to turn it in any direction, it bucked more dangerously than the last, then it started to roll, jerking to the side in a last ditch effort that finally unseated her –causing her to release a short cry of alarm–, leaving her dangling from it with only her two hands.

The terror was truly gripping her now like an ice-cold fist around her heart as Fred and George flew close, trying to pull her onto their brooms, but the broom shot upwards every time they tried. The broom swung her to and fro when she tried to loop her leg over the side, forcing her back to where she was dangling precariously in midair.

Her fingers were slipping and had no way to get herself back onto the broom. What was she going to do?

Hope pried her eyes open to see Higgs racing after the Snitch that was steadily making its way towards her. What luck, just what she needed to make this day perfect.

"George?" Her voice was still shaking.

"Still here," the red-head said helpfully from where he was hovering, not completely below her, Fred having disappeared soon after to ward off some Bludgers from the Chasers, leaving Hope to his twin.

"I'm going to do something incredibly stupid," she said, her voice wavering in her fear, "will you catch me?"

Green eyes locked with blue. In that instant, he said one word that made Hope want to kiss him right in front of the whole school, something she would later deny fervently.

"Always." Her breath caught and her heart stuttered briefly and she swallowed hard.

Hope gritted her teeth, swinging precariously on her broom, gaining enough momentum to drop down from her broom to his and into his arms, missing Higgs as he flew past by inches. The raucous cheer that enveloped the stadium told her that she had succeeded. And then she choked.

"Hope?" George looked faintly alarmed as she hacked into her hand, until the alarm turned to shock once the tiny golden ball fell into her hand.

"A remarkable catch by Beater Weasley, and a remarkable catch of the Snitch by Seeker Potter! Gryffindor wins!"

"You are unbelievable," George informed her as he directed his broom down until she could jump lightly off it. "People'll be talking about that catch for years—"

He blinked in surprise when she leaned forward and upwards, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek suddenly, her cheeks pink.

"Yours was far more impressive," she informed him with a light laugh, before the crowd of gold and red swarmed around her, the cheering deafening her as Hermione and Ron pulled her into a very welcome hug. Despite their happiness, Hope could see that Ron's face was a bit pale –his freckles were standing out in contrast with the pallor– and Hermione had nail marks indented in her cheeks from clutching them in fear.

"Don't ever do that again!" Hermione told her feverishly, only serving to make Hope laugh.

She could see Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall in the distance, pulling her broom down from where it was still hovering a good hundred feet above the ground, but she didn't think too much of it as she was whisked away for a cup of tea with Hagrid as a congratulations for beating Slytherin.

Ron had to admit there was an obvious difference between the morning and now, since she had gone from pale and scared to bright-cheeked and beaming (her hair returned to its usual dark red) as she retold the tale to Hagrid from her point of view.

"Though," she added after she had finished her tale, "I wonder why my broom was acting like that...the only time I've had it out has been at practice and after that it was locked in my trunk..."

"That was Snape's fault," Ron explained to her befuddled look, gesturing to himself and Hermione, "we saw him. He was cursing your broom!"

"Rubbish," Hagrid refuted as Hope frowned thoughtfully, her eyes growing distant, "Why would he?"

"Dunno," Hope said slowly, glancing over at her friends, "but he did try to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween, so you have to wonder if he's plausibly _sane_ —"

This subject had been discussed between the three at length when Ron had told the girls that he had seen the Potions Professor heading up to the third floor on Halloween and when Hope had told the other two about the wound he had sustained to his leg for his efforts that night. Needless to say, it didn't put the professor in a good light.

Hagrid made a racket dropping the teapot, smashing the ceramic and tea into the carpet as Hermione smiled and Ron sniggered at Hope's choice of words. "How do you know about Fluffy?"

 _"Fluffy?!"_ Three voices chorused with varying degrees of disbelief (Ron), shock (Hermione), and incredulity (Hope).

"Yeah, he's mine, from a Greek chappie," Hagrid said in a nonchalant manner. "I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Oh?" Hope asked, arching her eyebrows, her voice filled with curiosity.

"That's top secret!" he growled at their eager faces.

"And if Snape steals it?" Hope prompted, her face placid as he glared.

"Rubbish! Snape's a Hogwarts teacher!"

"Then why was he spelling Hope's broom to toss her off; she could have _died_ falling from that height!" Hermione cried.

"Whatever yer thinkin', it ain't that," Hagrid refuted with a scowl, "Snape wouldn't do anythin' teh Hope's broom, that was somethin' else. Forget about it, meddlin' in this stuff's dangerous. Forget about that dog and what it's guardin'! That's strictly between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—"

"Nicolas Flamel?"

The trio beat a rather hasty retreat after Hagrid revealed that little piece of information, because it was hard to tell if he was angrier at them or himself.

"Who's Nicholas Flamel?" Ron asked when they were nearly back to the castle.

"I'm sure I've read it somewhere," Hope said, screwing up her face with thought, "I just can't remember where…"

"I've never heard of him," Hermione admitted, vaguely surprised that Hope knew something that she didn't.

Two pairs of eyes looked upon her in surprise. _"Really?"_

She gave them both a rather direct look that told them she wasn't amused by them in the slightest. "Well, I don't know _everything_ ," she sniffed.

"Just most things?" Ron asked innocently and Hermione glared while Hope burst into sniggers.

"Oh, shut up," she told him. "We should head up to the library and start researching."

Ron couldn't hide his groan. "The library?" he bemoaned, his words almost coming out as a whine. "Can't it wait? Gryffindor just won against the Slytherins for the first time in _years!_ Can't we just take a day and celebrate?"

Hermione and Hope shared a look of amusement at how put-out their friend was at the idea of spending a prolonged amount of time in the library. It was safe to say that he didn't like it nearly as much as his friends did.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wait a day," Hope decided with a faux-mournful sigh. "And I was _so_ looking forward to picking up a new book on Ancient Magicks!"

"Blooming mental," Ron muttered under his breath as they moved off in the direction of the castle.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Hermione pulled out the two rings that Hope had entrusted to her before the match and Hope blinked and looked down at her empty hands.

She had forgotten that she'd given Hermione her rings for safe keeping.

"Oh, right," Hope said as they walked through the stone courtyard, accepting her rings. "The things that slip your mind, huh?" She returned the black opal ring to her thumb and Hermione and Ron could've sworn that the snake ring tightened around her ring finger like the coils of a snake (which made a lot of sense, given what the ring was shaped like).

"So…did you really light Snape on fire?" Hope asked with mirth, causing Ron to laugh and Hermione to pale as she glanced around.

" _Shh!"_ she insisted. "Don't say that so loud! I could be _expelled!"_

"And that's the worst that could happen," Ron snorted, "you know, after _dying_."

Hermione's cheeks flushed with heat as she glared at Ron. She'd said something similar the night Hope, Ron, Neville, and Hermione had gotten dragged into a midnight duel by Malfoy. "Oh, shut up!"

Hope sniggered as she watched her two friends argue back and forth; she would be lying if she said that it wasn't amusing.

But then she caught a pale green eye before it vanished into shadow and she paused searching for it.

"Hope, what's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"I thought I saw," Hope started to say, before saying, "never mind, it was probably nothing."

And she caught up with her friends, heading towards the Gryffindor common room, where, undoubtedly, a loud party was taking place.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore wasn't quite sure what to think of the only daughter of Lily and James Potter, and subsequently, the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter. She was quite… _enigmatic._

She was exceptionally minded, much like Lily in that aspect, and appearance-wise as well; the likeness was so uncanny, he could have sworn Lily Evans had survived that night in 1981 and de-aged herself. She excelled in Charms and Transfiguration, a perfect blend of her parents, though she lacked a bit in Potion. Despite that, she had a way to subtly insult people that usually ended with her serving several detentions a week with Severus for the witty tongue she had inherited from her mother.

He watched her interact with the Weasley Twins and their younger brother, Ronald, as well as the young Hermione Granger. He'd seen how the smile melted through her facade, how her eyes would light up and shift very much like young Nymphadora Tonks' would. George in particular paid close attention to her. It was much like watching James and Lily all over again, except that Hope did not despise George like Lily had James. Times like those brought a smile to his aged and worn face.

But Albus Dumbledore was also one for over-thinking situations and people, and even underestimating them, with Gellert Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort being the most prime examples. He had many regrets about how he handled those two situations.

And because of this thinking, Dumbledore could also view her as something akin to dangerous, for she reminded him of another student he had once had, though he had been in Slytherin, he had been as driven and as intelligently minded as she was, and that was worrisome.

When she had sat on the stool to be sorted, Dumbledore had been expecting her to be sorted immediately into Gryffindor as her parents had been and had been quite surprised when it had taken the Sorting Hat so long to decide where to put her. This made him think that she was wavering between two Houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin.

It made him wonder for a moment if she actually belonged in Gryffindor House, but only time would tell and soon he would see if she would be the girl he had hoped she would be when she arrived at Hogwarts.

* * *

"There's something very wrong with Binns," Hope decided one day, scrutinizing the many ghosts that haunted Hogwarts.

It was the nicest day they'd had in weeks, since the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, despite it being already half-way through December, which was why a great deal of the Hogwarts occupants were curiously absent. Including the twins and Lee Jordan, who were off playing a less competitive form of Quidditch. Hope was envious, but she had refused apologetically when they had asked her to join them, opting to remain in the Great Hall and wait patiently for Hermione and Ron to finish their homework.

She was actually a bit astounded that Hermione of all people had fallen behind in school work, because even Hope, who had Quidditch practice three times a week, was ahead in her studies.

Currently, she was flipping through her muggle playing cards –the first thing she'd ever bought, if how worn and frayed they were was an indicator–, playing her fourth game of Patience. She wasn't very good at it, but her only opponent was herself and when she was younger, that had a lot of appeal. She flipped over the card on top of her "excess" deck; Three of Hearts. She moved it to the pile that ended with a Four of Spades. She had said those six words out of sheer boredom, but they were completely true.

"Yeah?" Ron grunted. His fingers were spattered with ink, smudging his essay a little. It was supposed to be on the uses of the levitation charm, but he was quickly running out of reasons (and Professor Flitwick had pulled him aside to say that he couldn't use knocking out a troll as one of them).

"All his lectures are portraying goblins as vicious creatures," Hope said in a voice that made it seem like Ron was agreeing with her, "which seems a bit biased, since I've never met a particularly vicious goblin?"

"Have you met a lot of goblins?" Hermione asked, glancing up from her Herbology paper to glance over at her friend. That thought made her lips twitch at the corners. Having friends was still a new concept for her, but she liked it, and it was never boring when you were best mates with Hope Potter and Ron Weasley.

"Well, no," Hope admitted, realizing her whole argument was a bit flimsy, with rather large gaping holes in it, "but Ragnok and Griphook weren't like that when I met them. Granted, they weren't technically pleasant, but-"

Ron was staring at her like he had never done before (though, Hermione was sure she'd seen that same slack jawed expression on George's face one time or another). "You're on speaking terms with goblins?"

Hope shrugged her shoulders, placing a King of Diamonds onto the empty space between two piles. "It wouldn't do to annoy the ones in charge of my vaults." Her lips twitched. "I think they were the first ones who ever gave me a choice in anything." Her relatives, and she used that term loosely, has never given her any options, and even Hagrid, whom she liked well enough had carted her off without taking her opinion into account.

Hermione's eyes grew sad at that; she couldn't imagine not having a choice with anything. Even Ron looked a bit disconcerted.

Hope's attention had shifted from her friends to land on the ghost of Ravenclaw House, the Grey Lady. Her dark hair –it must have been– fell past her translucent waist, and she was clothed in a medieval sort of garb. Hope supposed she was beautiful, but she could hardly look at her straight since she kept turning invisible whenever she looked in the ghost's direction. Hope got the feeling the spirit wasn't really looking at her though. She frowned, hardly noticing when her hair colored black, set in bouncy curls.

Hope hissing slightly in pain as she banged her leg suddenly against the table. "Ah…"

Hermione and Ron had grown used to the brave face she put on when in pain. She never tried to draw attention to it, and that was what impressed Hermione the most about her, so Hermione followed her lead and didn't mention it.

She messed the cards with her hand, the distinct frown lining her face from what thought, Hermione couldn't be sure. It was times like these that Hermione had actually see why she liked George so much; he was the brightness that banished the shadows that lay behind her eyes.

She brightened quickly, and this time it was half-genuine. "Hey, we should go exploring after this!"

Hermione was a bit stunned by how quickly she'd changed, it was as if someone had flipped a switch inside her head, but Ron, who'd known her the longest, wasn't quite so surprised.

"Exploring?" he repeated, glancing down. "Won't that irritate your leg?"

The soft-eyed smile she gave him in return startled him, but only slightly. One of the great things about Ron was that he didn't walk on eggshells around her concerning her leg. Most people were careful about what they said, but he was a bit blunt. Fred and George took her mind off it, yes, but Ron accepted it. _My best mate has a serious injury, but it's healing,_ seemed to be his mindset.

"I'll be fine," Hope scoffed, waving her hand in a careless manner, "a little exercise could do me good."

"Ah, Miss Potter!"

Hope blinked as the short-statured Charms professor came up to their area of his bench, holding Hope's Nimbus Two-Thousand in his wrinkled hands.

"Professor?" she asked, her voice colored with confusion; she hadn't seen the broom since the Quidditch game when it had undergone several extensive tests to see if there weren't any more charms on it.

"We've checked it over a dozen times," he assured her as he handed it back to her, "but the most we could find was an Expulsion Charm, and it has been removed."

Hope couldn't come up with a response to that. She had been a bit apprehensive concerning her most recent possession.

"It's not going to throw me off again, is it?" she inquired slowly, scrutinizing the broom in such a way that the Ravenclaw Head was distantly reminded of her mother so many years ago, staring intently at a teacup that she was attempting to make tap dance.

"I am certain, Miss Potter," he assured her, smiling slightly as the lines on her face disappeared and she relaxed. Or had they? As Professor Flitwick walked away, he glanced back and saw the lines had returned. The worry on her face was almost palpable, but he had a feeling that come a few days she wouldn't have to worry much at all.

* * *

Contrary to Hope's belief, the twins and Lee Jordan were not playing an epic game of pick-up Quidditch (how could they play when the best Seeker was stuck inside?). It was the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas break, so everyone –including the aforementioned students– was out finishing their Christmas shopping.

Coming up with a gift for Hope was turning out to be more of a trial than George had originally thought. Of course, he, Fred, and their friends had clubbed together to get her some reasonably mild Zonkos products, but he wanted to get something else...something that meant a bit more.

The only problem was, he didn't know what to get her. She liked to cook (or, at least, she was good enough at it), he knew that, but Hermione was getting her something that involved that. She was smart, so he could get her a nice book, but that would be more like something he would get Percy (gag). They were passing by Tomes and Scrolls when he caught sight of it. T&S always set out free books that didn't sell well outside on the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas, and they didn't disappoint.

The book in particular that had caught his interest was the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. It was a collection of children's stories that their mum always used to tell them when they were little, but Hope had grown up Muggle, and she certainly hadn't heard any children stories. He lifted it from the pile. It was still good as new, he noticed. He thumbed through the pages, noting that the art was a bit better than the one his mum had, so he pocketed it.

If Fred noticed, he didn't mention it, because, either way, George still had to come up with a really nice Christmas gift.

"Oi, Angie!" Fred called over to Angelina where she was talking to Alicia, having just exited the local jewelry store, holding a small bag. He tried not to notice that his heart began to race when she lifted her head and smiled brilliantly.

"Yeah?"

"Got some advice for George?" Fred queried, his lips still upturned, gesturing with his shoulder towards the boy who was doing a mental analysis of his friend-whom-he-liked-a-great-deal and what she could possibly want as a gift.

Angelina grinned, an oddly feral grin not unlike Hope's, now that he thought about it. "Oh, I've got the best thing…"

Taking both twins by the arm, she dragged them inside the nearest shop, directing George's attention to the object in the corner.

It was _perfect._

* * *

Hermione found herself pulling apart the curtains that hid Hope's bed from view the very next day, paling at once at the sight within. Hope, who had been complaining only of mild tingling in her leg the day previously, now looked worse for wear. Her skin was nearly a sickly sheen of grey and shimmered from sweat and her forehead was scrunched up in pain.

"Hope? Hope!"

She shook the girl hopelessly, before all but fleeing to find Madam Pomfrey.

Unfortunately, Hope was awake and grumbling by the time the Matron arrived, being in a very bad mood.

"Argh...I hate stomach flu!"

Hope certainly didn't look as though she was enjoying her time being sick, but then, no one ever seemed to. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt quite so bad if her leg hadn't been acting up as well, but her friends thought it best not to comment; who knew how she would react?

Hope's arms were currently tightly wrapped around her middle, as if that would assuage the pain, but no such luck. Her face was pinched and pale, but not nearly as pale as the day before. And she looked less miserable, so that was something.

"Moving will only make it worse," the Matron warned from her office, "I'm afraid you will just have to wait for it to pass."

Hope muffled her frustration in her pillow. "And how long is that supposed to take?"

"It should be only a few minutes," Madam Pomfrey assured her, "but the effects might last for hours; you may feel a bit drained."

"Fantastic," she grumbled.

Hermione was still noticeably concerned for her friend, hovering close to her side. "Are you sure it's just flu?"

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit sad as she watched Hope stubbornly turn her head away, a frown set firmly on her face.

"It's not just the flu," she admitted, gazing intently at her patient who was doing a spot-on impression of James Potter that it was almost scary, almost, but not quite. "It's her leg as well."

Hermione looked closer and saw that the scar horizontally across her leg was angry and puckered, looking very infected.

"She's overstrained the muscles somehow," Madam Pomfrey explained.

"I am right here, you know," Hope said sourly, crossing her arms, looking extremely petulant.

"Hush!" The Matron admonished the girl as if she was an impertinent child interrupting an important conversation.

Hope's scowl deepened, but the healer wasn't perturbed. Hermione guessed that she had gotten so used to her attitude from having Hope as a patient for so long.

"The muscles need time to recover, so you'll have to be off your feet for awhile." This time, her words were directed towards the red-head who was still sulking. "This time, try to actually follow my instructions." The despairing voice she used was enough to earn a quirk of the lips from Hope, but nothing else.

"Keep an eye on her," Madam Pomfrey warned the brunette as she left, "you know how she is about following rules."

"Sadly," Hermione agreed with a sigh.

By some miracle, Hope had managed to get through a shower and pull on her clothes and hop down the stairs to the common room without using her leg, though, with her luck, she was beginning to suspect that she would over-strain the muscles in her good leg. And that would not do.

"I can't stand sitting still," she said in an aggrieved tone. "This sucks!"

The other Gryffindors who happened to be in the common room as she said this smirked and snickered.

"Maybe if you hadn't insisted that we go exploring, we wouldn't be in this mess," Hermione admonished from where she and Ron stood beside the armchair.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Hope grumbled, hardly under her breath.

"You're impossible," Ron said, almost in awe.

"I do try," she drawled in response, waving them off. They were going to the library to try to look up some information on Nicolas Flamel. "Have fun."

Ron rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. "See you in a few."

They shared a smile at her huff of annoyance, leaving her to her devices.

Hope pulled an aged book from her bag, which had been conveniently left where it was the previous night. _The Origins of Blood Magick,_ that was what it was called. It was a pity that Britons were so narrow minded when it came to truly extraordinary branches of magic. They quickly outlawed any magic that they couldn't and wouldn't understand, and Blood Magick was one such thing.

Sometimes Hope didn't understand wizards at all.

_Blood Magick is one of the two most ancient forms of magic known to wizard-kind. It came into favour in the early Dark Ages and has been used in several well-known branches of magic, such as: Wicca, Alchemy, Astrology, Necromancy, Sigil Magick, and Hoodoo. Blood Magick is the magic that resides in one's blood, impregnated with the blood on a cellular level. The most common way to activate the magic within the blood is through what is commonly known as Blood Warding which was highly popular amongst the Pharaohs of Egypt. The frequent use of it deterred grave robbers so much that legends spread that the tombs were cursed—_

"All by your lonesome?"

Hope lifted her head to gaze at the Weasley Twins.

"Peace and quiet is very nice once in a while," she said with a slight smile, splaying her hand over the page so the curious third-years wouldn't know that she was reading about a subject that had been banned from the country. She highly doubted that they would recognize its contents but there was still an off chance that they could. "Not that you would know," she added dryly.

"Silence is so boring, though!" Fred complained.

"Noise is a much better alternative," George agreed in the same light sort of voice.

She smiled.

* * *

"You two."

Ron and Hermione –who had only just left the library after a fruitless search– turned back suddenly, remarkably tense, to face the owner of the commanding voice. It was a young boy, maybe fifteen with tousled black hair falling into his pale eyes. He wore a black robe but no house symbol or a distinguishing tie to allude to his house.

He was holding out a rather thick tome towards them. "Give this to Elpis, would you?"

"Elpis?" Ron asked blankly in incomprehension. "We don't know an Elpis."

But Hermione frowned, understanding the allusion. "Isn't Elpis the name of the Goddess of Hope in Greek myths?"

The boy's smile twisted until it was condescending. "Aren't you a clever girl?" he mocked, smirking as her cheeks colored. "I suppose Muggle-borns have gotten smarter since my day."

That was both a compliment and an insult. Hermione struggled to settle her face into a stoic mask like Hope did, but she was sure her eyes had flashed in irritation as he had dropped the weighty tome into her hands. She read the title curiously. " _Ancient Magical Languages_?"

"Elpis has a distinct fondness for ancient history. She is rather fascinated with Greek and Celtic, I gather, from her frequent trips to this library," he gestured to the one they had just exited after coming up with nothing on Nicholas Flamel.

Ron stared at him oddly, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at how he knew so much about his friend. "How do you know that?"

"That is hardly a matter to concern yourself with," he said with scorn, bearing a superior smile as he gazed down on them. "Tell Elpis it is a gift."

In the time it took them to blink, he had vanished, and they were befuddled, but they hurried back to the common room all the same, finding themselves unsurprised that Hope was being entertained by Ron's elder brothers.

She looked better than when they'd left, for now the pallor that had adorned her face had faded, leaving her with the light rosy hue that she had always had. She did look a bit tired, but that was normal, as Madam Pomfrey had said.

"How on earth did you manage to set off those Dungbombs while being surrounded by witnesses?" Hope was saying, tossing her friends a smile and a nod as they approached. "I didn't know there was such a thing as a spell that could delay the explosion time!"

They bore self-satisfied smirks.

"Ask us no questions—"

"And we'll tell you no lies."

She snorted, glancing over Ron and Hermione. "Find anything useful?" she queried, frowning at the thick tome in their hands.

"Not re-"

Hope was goggling at the title. "Where the ruddy hell did you find _that?!"_

She practically ripped the weighty book from Hermione's arms, gazing at it in awe.

"A boy said you'd like it, he said it was a gift for Elpis, you know, the Godde-" Hermione started to say.

"The Goddess of Hope, yes, I know." Hope nearly sighed. She knew all too well the tale of Elpis. "I wonder who it was…?"

She was speaking more to herself as she inspected the locked keyhole ("why would there be a keyhole on a book?" "If you don't know how am I supposed to?"). Hermione and Ron were surprised to note that it opened without an ounce of resistance, but they didn't see the small prick of blood collecting on Hope's thumb. Hope opened it slowly, flipping gingerly through the pages in complete awe.

There were so many symbols, so many _runes_ …it must be Christmas.

"I think you killed her," George mentioned dryly as he waved a hand to and fro in front of her face, but she never let on that she could see it.

"This is… _perfect,"_ she said disjointedly in complete shock.

Three of the four watching her allowed themselves to be faintly amused by the jealous frown that had settled onto George's face.

* * *

Hope tried to smother her giggles the next day as she watched Fred and George carefully enchant a series of snowballs while standing behind a tree so that they would bounce against Professor Quirrell's turban as he walked past. Christmas break would start tomorrow and the Christmas spirit was heavy in the air. A large portion of the school was feverishly packing up their things for the break, but obviously the ones that weren't were staying behind.

Hope wasn't too choked up (in fact she wasn't choked up at all), not even after Malfoy's jibe about her not being wanted at home. Sadly, it was true, and if there was any chance that she could actually have fun on a holiday, she would take it.

"Hey."

George sounded out of breath as he sat down on the stone bench beside her, barely glancing at her broom which lay forgotten beside her. He grinned; she had probably come down to fly but had gotten distracted by their enchanted snowballs.

"Hey." Her lips twisted into a smile, bringing attention to her light blue eyes and now strawberry-blonde hair. "Having fun?"

"Always," he chortled.

It lifted his spirits when she laughed with him. Her heavily gloved hand dropped to squeeze his.

"So…flying?"

Her eyes pooled with anxiety, surprising George. She liked to fly quite a bit, though, now that he thought about it, she should be nervous about being on the broomstick that tried to send her off it if not for George's interference.

"Do you think I'm being stupid?" she asked him suddenly, her eyes imploring. "Being scared of a big, bad broomstick." Hope gave a shaky laugh.

"Not at all," George refuted. "I'd probably be scared if it had been me."

"Really?" She sounded surprised, but then Fred and George had never seemed like the sort of people that would or could be scared of something as trivial (possibly) as being tossed from a broom.

"Really," he said, sounding oddly serious. "I'll go up with you, if you want."

She seemed to be caught between two decisions, biting the inside of her cheek as she did so. Finally, she sighed and nodded as George pulled her into a standing position, settling himself over her broom and gesturing for her to do the same. Unlike him, her movements were not eager, more like they were resigned, but she replicated his moves and linked her arms around his stomach; George could feel how tense she was.

"But, if you kill me," she said in a surprisingly calm voice, "know that I will haunt you until the day you die."

George laughed, disregarding the comment, since he was rather used to the death threats she typically threw his way. They were generally coupled with a smile. "Duly noted."

Slowly, very slowly, he pushed off from the ground, pointing the broom upwards in a gentle manner, but he could feel Hope's arms digging painfully into his sides, even so.

"It's alright," he hummed in a contented voice that he usually adopted when speaking with Ginny after she woke up from a nightmare. "Look down."

Hope did as he requested and laughed aloud; they were barely a foot above the ground. He spun the shaft in a lazy figure eight. "Want to go higher?"

"All right."

Trust was something she had always had an extraordinary amount of difficulty with, but here with George, with him being the only thing that kept her from falling downwards, she didn't find it so hard. She smiled into his back as the nervousness and the anxiety melted from her body, fading into the snow and frost that caked the castle like the icing on a gingerbread house.

"George?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

"Don't let me fall."

He chuckled ahead of her, one hand squeezing hers where they were still locked around him. "Never."

* * *

The cold had long since numbed Hope's toes where they were bared to the harsh winter wind as she gazed upwards at the stars. They were brighter tonight than they had been previously, or, at least that was how they seemed. She was a little chilled (really, what had she been _thinking_ going up onto the Astronomy Tower in nothing but her bed clothes and bathrobe?), but that was to be expected. She doubted she'd been up there very long, but when one's feet begin to feel like icicles, the time would seem much longer. Finally, she sighed and shifted her gaze from the Pleiades, stumbling back inside, where it was only slightly warmer.

Hope kept to the shadows, wary of any prefect or professor out on patrol, when something startled her.

"You must be cold."

Hope tried very hard not to jump at the soft voice, far more startled that the Grey Lady had appeared before after looking so pained. Hope glanced down at her bare pale feet, almost having forget they were there since she had lost feeling in them (she was sure that wasn't a good thing).

"It's not so bad," she assured her, though it was a lie (but not an obvious one), her eyes still confused. "I thought you hated me."

The Ravenclaw ghost's smile lacked feeling. "My apologies. You simply reminded me a bit of myself."

Hope's mouth dropped open; whatever the reason could have been, that wasn't one she would have anticipated.

"I...I did?" She asked bleakly. Sometimes that was good, but sometimes that was bad; Hope was sure that this was the bad.

"Intelligent and seeking a way to prove oneself," the Grey Lady said with a voice filled with scorn, making Hope automatically flinch. "I have been watching you most closely, Hope Potter."

"You're being rather rude," Hope said equally coldly, her eyes turning a frigid grey. "You're more than Ravenclaw's ghost…you're Ravenclaw's blood, aren't you?"

Now it was time for the ghost to flinch, but that only gave Hope a small amount of pleasure. She liked to put people down when they insulted her, but someone like the Grey Lady seemed sadder and angrier than anything else. It would be cruel to insult a dead woman.

"Only Rowena didn't have any siblings, just a daughter, a daughter who vanished from all record." Hope wasn't trying to be mean, only direct. She'd looked up the Four Founders histories in _Hogwarts, A History_ and the most interesting, she had to admit, were the lives of Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw. "With all due respect, I'm not like you. I'm not as smart as you and I'm not as vain." Vain was just a guess, but Helena Ravenclaw did seem to be a bit in her opinion.

The Grey Lady seemed caught between the compliment and the insult, but then she smiled, but it was rueful, filled with so many different emotions that Hope quickly lost track. "You remind me of your grandfather; he, too, often spoke of blunt truths when he was riled up."

"My grandfather?" Hope asked in confusion, her irritation dropping from her face. "What do you mean?"

"Aisle Four, first row, _A History of the Founders_ ," she said as an answer, "I'm sure you'll find it most... _enlightening."_ And without a single utterance, Helena Ravenclaw faded into a wisp of wind, breezing past her and towards the Ravenclaw common room.

Hope frowned in thought, but she did as she asked. Getting into the library was no easy feat, mind you, especially with her leg the way it was. She almost ran into Percy Weasley trying to avoid Professor Burbage. With some luck she managed to slip past the library's doors with a barest squeak of hinges, but finding the book was more difficult than she had anticipated, since the binding was rather worn (she passed by it three times without noticing).

When she found it, she was sure she stopped breathing for a few seconds, and she had gone stock still as she gazed at the youthful face of Salazar Slytherin. He was just as Hope remembered the boy from September, the one who had told her which way to go that reach the Astronomy Tower; dark tousled hair, pale eyes, sharp features, and a cocky smile. She was far more surprised that he easily stood beside Godric Gryffindor, someone whom he had apparently hated –if the current rivalries were anything to go by–, smiling secretively, as if they knew something that no one else did.

" _Your grandfather may not approve..._ " that was what the hat had said, and now she understood why. It must be quite scandalous for the descendant of Slytherin to be sorted into Gryffindor. Slytherin had a bad reputation, and she doubted she would earn any favors by being of his blood. Remaining silent of her relation to him would probably be a good idea for now, just as she was about the whole being able to predict death thing; she wasn't quite sure how any of her friends would respond.

She shut the book with a snap and shoved it back into shelf, but when she glanced at her hands, she saw that she was still shaking.

* * *

The early afternoon wind was still quite cold, almost a scorching cold, but the students making for the Hogwarts Express still battled against the fierce wind.

Hope had accompanied some of her friends with her broom locked under her arm as she ignored the jeers of the Slytherins, but she caught Daphne Greengrass giving her a slight nod, and she gave one in return. Their relationship was…odd, to say the least. They weren't really friends, but they weren't really enemies, either.

Hope was pulled from her internal musing when Hermione hugged her tightly around the middle as Lee Jordan pushed her trunk into the train, securing it with his and Alicia and Angelina's, who would be riding back with her (Hermione confided to Hope that she was grateful for the company). "You have a good holiday, Hope, and Merry Christmas!"

Hope grinned, squeezing her affectionately as well. "You too." She was sure she was the only one who came out to say goodbye –no one else had wanted to brave the cold (though she was sure she could have used her puppy-dog eyes on George and he would have bent like wet paper)-, but she didn't mind, even if the wind tangled her hair with snowflakes and pinked her cheeks with cold.

Angelina, Lee, and Alicia each gave her respective hugs, wishing her a Happy Christmas as well as they boarded the train.

Lee, in particular, ducked his torso out of the window and winked conspiratorially. "Don't have too much fun without me, Potter!"

Hope couldn't silence the laughter that bubbled from her lips, leaking through her fingers. "I'll try, but no promises!" She blew him a jaunty kiss that made the girls laugh as they ('they' referring to Angelina and Alicia, since Hermione wasn't that forward) pulled him back into the compartment.

The train was starting to move and she hobbled alongside it, studiously ignoring the flare of pain at her shin and she waved after them, before stopping and just simply raising her hand in farewell. She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but it was only when the train had completely disappeared, the red vanishing in the white, that she mounted her broom and hightailed for Hogwarts. She only touched ground again once she'd reached the Great Hall (yes, she flew inside Hogwarts, don't everyone get surprised at once), loping gracelessly over to the Gryffindor table to sit opposite Ron.

"I'm starving!" she bemoaned, resting her broom beside her. "I can't believe I slept through breakfast!" As she said this, she began to pile steak and kidney pie onto her plate while spooning some split pea soup into a spare bowl.

"I can't imagine what that's like," said Ron who had never missed a meal in his life.

Hope rolled her eyes, slurping the soup in an unlady-like manner. "Just because you eat all your meals doesn't mean everyone does."

He snorted at that. Hope had a bad habit of getting so caught up in her reading that there would be some days where she skipped a meal, like last night. She had been so engrossed in her new book that Angelina had to coerce the twins into taking her to the kitchen to grab the girl some grub. Of course, they had had to add a preservation charm to make sure it was warm when she ate it, since she hadn't noticed it sitting beside her the first hour after its arrival.

"How late were you reading that book anyways?" he asked as she started in on her steak and kidney pie.

"Past midnight, I'm sure," Hope said, well aware of the soft grey shadows beneath her eyes, "I just couldn't put it down. There were Norse figures that I've never read before! It was so fascinating!"

"I'll take your word for it," Ron said dryly. "You really like this stuff?"

"A bit," she admitted with a flushed grin. "I probably wouldn't want to make a career out of it, but at the rate I'm going at, they'll have to name me Official Knowledge-keeper of Magic."

Ron burst out into laughter at the ridiculous title she had apparently come up with on the spot.

Hope stuck out her tongue, but she was grinning all the same, content to not even spare a thought to the lack of Christmas gifts she was sure would not be in her room the next day.

And so Hope awoke the morning of Christmas Day not particularly anticipating any presents, so she went about her business as usual, gathering her clothes and entering the showers, not giving much around her a glance until after she had left the loo. She raked a hand through her dampened hair, noticing that it had grown a little longer in the passing months. She fingered the ends of the strands in speculation; perhaps she would grow it out longer.

She walked past the bed to dump her dirty clothes in the hamper by her bed, only to backtrack once she caught sight of the pile of packages at the edge of her bed.

Her mouth dropped open. She hadn't been expecting anything really, but her face couldn't help but light up with childish wonder.

The first parcel was from Hagrid. It was a roughly whittled flute and Hope couldn't resist playing a few notes, her fingers dancing across the holes, the air escaping it sounded distinctly like an owl, reminding Hope of Hedwig.

The second was a rather lumpy parcel that confused Hope until she opened it and found a box of homemade fudge and a thick jumper made of emerald green. The note said it was from Ron and the Twins' mother, Molly Weasley. Hope couldn't help but wonder if her own mother would have done the same if she had still been alive.

Then Hope scrubbed furiously at her eyes, wiping the remnants of tears from her green eyes, resolutely focusing on what a nice gift it was and pulling it over her head.

The next two gifts were sweets from Ron and Hermione, with Hermione adding to hers a small booklet, a cookbook, with a book filled with recipes that she could cut out and add to the blank cookbook. It was a lovely gift, Hope had to admit as she thumbed through the pages of the recipe book, she'd never had her own cookbook before.

The Weasley twins (and co.) had gotten her a box filled with more prank items than she could ever hope to use –at least, that's what she thought–, just glancing over, she recognized a few Dungbombs and Chinese Fortune Sticks. She couldn't help but smile as she set it aside and pulled one last package towards her.

The first item in the bag was a small book, proclaiming _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Was it children's stories? She placed it with her other gifts, removing the last one.

_Convinced Angie to steal a couple of your pictures, hope you like it and don't mind._

_-George_

She blinked; glancing to where her camera that she used a bit sparingly laid by her bedside, next to the box that contained all the pictures she'd taken at Hogwarts. So that was why she thought she'd been missing some photos…

She pulled the wrapping to reveal a leather bound scrapbook with 'Year One' embellished at the center. Her smile brightened as she flipped through the pages; her camera was one of the most used items in Gryffindor House, so she wasn't surprised that there were pictures there that she didn't recall taking. There was a lot of her with Ron and Hermione…and there was a surprising amount of her being manhandled by either of the twins (her arched eyebrow twitched a bit at that), but in almost every one of them she was smiling, much like she was now.

This gift was _perfection_. It was a hundred times better than the book on magical languages, if she said so herself. Hope traced a thin finger over the images painted across the cover with a soft smile.

Only one parcel remained now.

She removed the slip of parchment from the brown wrappings.

_Your father left this is my possession before he died._

_It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

The ring set with the black stone warmed in her hand as she lifted the garment from its packaging. It was silvery-grey, feeling and looking almost like fluid, gleaming in the sunlight that pooled through the window. It was gorgeous. Hope pulled the cloak over her shoulders only to look down at herself, stunned. Where was her body?

A cloak of invisibility…was there such a thing? She marveled silently at the gift, picking up the slip of parchment as if trying to will the writer's signature to the surface, but it was hopeless. And she was clueless.

"Ron! _Ron!"_

Ron, who had been unwrapping his own presents was surprised when a flurry of dark red assaulted his face. "Hope?"

Hope's eyes weren't quite as haunted as they had been yesterday; they were bright and filled with life as she shook something at Ron. "Ron, look at this!"

It was a cloak, and once she threw it over her shoulders, Ron's jaw dropped. Her body had completely disappeared!

"No way! If that's what I think it is, they're really rare and really valuable!" Ron said in astonishment, walking in a circle around Hope's disembodied head. "It's an invisibility cloak! How'd you get it?"

"The note said it belonged to my father," Hope explained as she pulled it off and folded it in her arms. "Did you open my present?"

As a matter of fact, he hadn't, but he wasted no time in ripping the wrapping paper form the square-like item.

"Wow! Hope, this is cool!"

It was a brand new chessboard.

Hope smiled. "I saw it when we were in Diagon Alley the first time around. I remembered you saying something about your old chessboard and thought you could use a new one."

He hefted it in his hand. It wasn't very light, but it wasn't very heavy either, so it couldn't have cost as much as he would have thought.

"Thanks!"

"No problem." She grinned devilishly. "I got the twins a prank book."

"Of course," Ron sniggered at the precise moment Fred and George bounded inside.

"Merry Christmas!" Fred chirped.

"Oh, look!" George noticed with a grin that had Hope blushing. "Hope's got a Weasley jumper, too!"

Fred and George were wearing ones much like the emerald green one she had pulled over her torso…though, if she was correct, they were wearing each other's. Her lips twitched in amusement.

"Hope's is better than ours, though," Fred added, a mock-thoughtful expression on his face as he rested his chin in his hand. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family, or are a girl."

Hope tossed him a filthy glance, speaking with a dry voice, " _Gee_ , Fred, _thanks_."

He tipped an invisible hat to her, earning yet another eye roll. Seriously, he could make a lot of money by betting how many she went through daily.

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George was demanding of his youngest brother, diverting all attention to the first-year Weasley, giving Hope the opportunity to hide the cloak under her jumper; she wasn't sure if she wanted to share it with anyone else yet. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm!"

Ron only looked half-annoyed as he pulled his over his head. "I hate maroon," he groaned.

"Ah, no letter," George observed. "I guess she thinks you won't forget your name, but we're not stupid; we know our names are Gred and Forge."

At that point, Hope lost it completely, clutching her stomach as she roared with laughter, so much laughter that she had tears falling from her eyes. George seemed very pleased by that as Fred elbowed him.

"What's all this noise?" a demanding voice came from the doorway. Percy Weasley didn't anticipate all the noise to be coming from Hope Potter who seemed to be at her wits end, hanging off of Ron's arm in an attempt to stay vertical. Before he could say anything further, Fred –it was Fred wasn't it? (he was assuming that the twin closest to Hope was George)– snatched the lumpy jumper from his hands.

Hope seemed to be recovering slowly as Ron thumped her back as if she had been choking on something. Fred took advantage of that distraction.

"P for Prefect!" Fred chortled, seeming strangely hyper. "Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Hope got one!"

Hope was indeed wearing a lovely dark green jumper over her shirt.

"I-don't-want—" Percy started to say, looking immensely annoyed as he did so, but it was too late. Grinning identically, Fred and George had pulled the thick sweater over his ginger head, messing up his hair and knocking his glasses to the side slightly.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today," George added with a crazy grin, "Christmas is a time for family!"

Hope had to stifle another bout of giggles as they marched out of the dormitory with Percy sandwiched between them, his arms locked at his sides by the jumper.

"Is it sad that I'm getting used to their antics?" Hope asked Ron after they had left.

Ron groaned. "Very."

He swore he could _hear_ her smirking, if that was even possible.

* * *

The wind whipped around Hope's head as she flew, yelping at the flash of crimson that chased her through the skies.

"Got you!"

She pouted when she saw that Ron's hand was tugging on her boot.

"You're it!"

A loud yell pierced her from the left where she could see two more patches of red; her grin turned oddly feral. She pointed her broom in their direction, shooting past Ron so fast, she was sure that he had yelled out as well. Their game of pick-up Quidditch had quickly devolved –seeing as there were only four of them– since they didn't have any access to the Quidditch balls, and they had ended up playing a game of "Tag" which the Weasley brothers hadn't really understood at first until Hope had explained it several times.

She did a few lazy loops to give them a head start, seeing as she had the fastest broom, before speeding towards the closest one –she couldn't really be sure which twin it was in this snowstorm-, reaching out a hand when the edge of the shaft hit into one of the stone structures in the courtyard. The movement dislodged the girl who let out a small scream as she was tossed into the side of one of the many stone arches.

She lay in a crumpled heap where she had been thrown, more stunned than in pain when three pairs of feet dropped down beside her.

"Hope?"

She groaned in response. "Ow."

"I'm starting to wonder if there is something wrong with your broom," Ron added as he helped her up, noticing her wince. "Did you hit your back?"

"Just a little-"

"So a lot?" Fred and George said at the same time.

"Hospital Wing it is."

Hope groaned again, pressing a hand to her chilled face. "And I was having so much fun," she muttered mutinously as Fred linked her arms around his neck and George went off to find her broom.

Her mood went down the toilet as they hauled her up to the medical wing of the school, but Madam Pomfrey wasn't too surprised by her most frequent patient's appearance.

"Back again, Hope?" she sounded almost resigned as Fred deposited her onto one of the beds. "What is it this time?" she asked in a benign voice.

"This time it's not my fault!" Hope said suddenly.

Madam Pomfrey arched an eyebrow and Hope relented in a small voice, making the Weasley boys snigger, "Well…maybe a little."

"And where…"

"My back."

Hope's face settled into a sullen frown as Madam Pomfrey rolled back her shirt so she could see the injury. The skin betrayed no sight of damage, but then it typically took about a half hour for bruises to fester, so Madam Pomfrey wasn't surprised by the lack of evidence. She tapped her wand against the skin, blinking in surprise.

"What did you do? Run into a wall?"

Hope scratched her cheek, chuckling sheepishly. "Err…sort of…"

Madam Pomfrey made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat as she murmured a spell and unrolled her shirt where she had pulled it back.

"It's going to be a little stiff, but try to be more careful next time," she warned as Ron helped pull Hope into a standing position.

"I'm always careful, Poppy," she said with a wide grin, ignoring the eye twitch at her use of the Matron's first name, "you know me, always walking on eggshells."

Madam Pomfrey, it seemed, wasn't the only one that found that idea to be ludicrous, if the assortment of snorts and laughs were anything to go off of.

Hope just huffed in annoyance, her cheeks stained a pink that hadn't come from the cold. She was immeasurably relieved that the color had faded by the time they had returned to the ground level, heading for the Great Hall.

Astonishment was the first emotion she felt when they sat down, because the sheer amount of food was completely insane. There was so much turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, buttered peas and much more.

"Are Christmas dinners always like this?" she asked in awe as they settled into the open seats by Percy –who had stuck to his promise and was not sitting with the prefects.

"Typically, yeah, great, aren't they?" Fred said with a grin, holding out a cracker for her to pull apart with him.

Bemused, she gripped the opposite end and pulled, giving a yelp of surprise when it exploded and hid them in a blue cloud. The shocked expression was still on her face when it had cleared, revealing an admiral's hat…and some very alive white mice. Hope stared after the rodents as they scampered away, completely dumbfounded.

Ron had already dug into his food, but Hope was still in a bit of astonishment when something soft brushed against her cheek. She turned and smiled, grabbing the end of George's cracker, but jumping again when the loud noise erupted from it, this time covering them in a cloud of bright red. The gift in the center was a band new chess set –much like the board that Hope had gotten for Ron. She grinned, setting it with the hat and finally tucking into her food.

Of course, everything was delicious, and even that was an understatement. Somehow, the food was even better than it generally was, but that was probably because it was Christmas. She laughed with them all as she carried her pile a new gifts (which now included a grow-your-own-warts kit and a few packs of non-explodable, luminous balloons) up to the common room.

"Ready for a snowball fight?" George grinned as she returned from the stairs to her dormitory, carrying her thick hat and gloves in one hand, the other using the railing for assistance on the way down.

"Oh, absolutely," she laughed. "Get ready to brained by my awesomeness!"

She ran off before he could respond to that, leaving him blinking in surprise, musing aloud. "How can she be so fast with that limp?"

* * *

The snow was falling heavily and deep around the Granger's house, making it look remarkably like a gingerbread house that had been recently iced. All the houses on the street looked like that, though, so Hermione couldn't really complain as she unwrapped all of her presents giving the appropriate amount of joy for each gift. Hers were mostly book-related, true to her love of the written word. Once she had finished unwrapping all the packages, she pulled out a small pile of photos that Hope had given her to show to her parents.

"This is me, Hope, and Ron," Hermione was telling her parents, showing them a few pictures of her friends at Hogwarts. They were still in a bit of awe that the images could move.

"Hope, Ron, and I," her mother corrected automatically with a kindly smile as she took the pictures from her daughter. Her daughter's friends (oh, how she would never tire of using that word!) were both red-haired, but the girl's was far darker than the boy's. The girl was the one she automatically drew attention to, as she was the only girl of her daughter's friends. Her smile was tired, but happy all the same, leaning heavily on a cane with one leg leaned on more heavily than the other as her other arm looped over Hermione's shoulders.

"Who's this boy?" she asked, looking at the next picture, watching in fascination as a slightly older boy bent down to toss the red-haired girl over his shoulder despite her protests and embarrassment. He looked a little like the boy Hermione was friends with.

"Oh, that's probably George, Ron's older brother," Hermione supplied with an amused grin, "he's fascinated by Hope."

A crush, then, it was sweet, Mrs. Granger had to admit, smiling reflexively at Hope's wide smile.

"He's a bit of a troublemaker," Hermione added as an afterthought, "but then so is Hope. She doesn't like authority much."

Her father arched a brown eyebrow, glancing at the pictures his wife handed him. "Wouldn't have figured that you would befriend troublemakers," he said slowly, ignoring the look his wife shot towards him.

Hermione shrugged, a fond smile melting onto her lips. "Hope only causes trouble mostly when we're in Potions class, like with our potion's professor, he hates her. He picks on her every day and she just insults him _to his face."_

Both parents look startled at that, but Hermione only grinned, one hand still playing lazily over the cover of the book Hope had gotten her, _The Magick of Wicca_. The note enclosed had said:

 _I saw this and thought of you,_ her letter had said _. Happy Holidays!_

"I got her a cookbook, but only because she said she has trouble keeping recipes straight in her head," Hermione admitted, "what she really likes is discovering things, old and new."

Her father reached over to ruffle her bushy hair that was so like his. "She sounds lovely, they both do."

Hermione just grinned, knowing that they didn't really understand a bit about her life at Hogwarts but supporting her nonetheless.

* * *

"Take this!"

Fred yelled as a ball of icy-cold snow hit him in the face, knocking him back to the snow-covered ground.

Hope's laughter echoed on all sides before silencing rather suddenly as she pitched forward slightly by a blow to the back of the head.

"Ronald!" she yelled after the boy that had begun to race away soon after the ball had made contact with her face. The youngest Weasley boy ran as Hope hobbled after him packing snow into a compact ball. Fred was more impressed by how fast she was going with that limp of hers than the size of her orb.

_"Mmph!"_

"Oh!" Fred felt a bit sheepish as he went to unearth George from the pile of snow he had been encased under after the weighed-down branch above him had deposited it on him only moments before. "Sorry, Georgie!"

His twin hacked up a glob of white as he regained his breath, blinking around blearily, before his eyes shot wide and he ducked quickly to avoid a snowball that embedded in the tree behind him.

Fred wasn't so lucky, getting a shot to the stomach courtesy of Ron.

"Firsties versus Thirds!" Hope yelled, her thickly gloved hands clutching two impressive snowballs. "We're gonna _cream_ you!"

"Bring it on, Potter!" they said, dodging quickly to avoid the barrage, ducking quickly behind an oak tree, making their white orbs in its safety.

She shrieked at the snowball that jarred her in the back. "You brats!" she yelled, scooping up the snow beside her as she leapt after the madly cackling twins. "I'm gonna get you!"

George yelped as she flung her body onto his back, shoving the ball of ice down the back of his shirt, making his body arch in an effort to make the cold ball not touch his skin. " _MERLIN'S BALLS!"_

Hope laughed loudly as he fell into the snow, thus adding more snow to his skin.

"Better luck next ti-ah!" Hope rolled off his back, dodging Fred's snowball aimed at her forehead. "Bring it on, you arse-hole!"

"Switching sides already?" he jeered back, only to yelp as she lobbed a new snowball at his big, fat mouth. "I'm gonna get you!"

"You can try!" she yelled back, dancing out of the way as George's snowball flew past her face by a few inches, a few scant inches at that. And then she fell over. Three ginger heads swiveled in her direction, but the funniest part is that none were more surprised than Hope herself. The stunned expression was priceless as she stared down at her now immobile leg.

She swore. Loudly.

The boys laughed. Louder.

" _Unfair!"_ she complained as she struggled into an upright sitting position, bending the leg at the knee in an attempt to force the tense muscle to relax. "I've got- _oh!"_

She tried hard not to blush as she was swept up into George's arms, but she had lost that battle a long time ago.

* * *

"Hand it over, George!"

The twins were grinning ear to ear as they tossed Percy's prefect badge back and forth causing a general ruckus in the Gryffindor Tower with their older brother. Hope smiled through sleepy eyes, stuffed with the Christmas dinner they had just had. Ron had bypassed her completely, dozing in the armchair closest to the fire. Sometimes she wished she could fall asleep as easily as him, but that was far from her reach.

"Freddie!"

George lobbed the badge to his twin, ducking under Percy's arms, dancing out of reach. Hope chuckled softly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she did so in an effort to focus a bit more on the impromptu game. Fred and George were nothing if not persistent, at least that could be said of them.

She leaned back suddenly so it wouldn't bash her across the head as it passed, turning a baleful stare towards Fred, her face no longer amused.

"Whoops!"

She rolled her eyes as Percy took that brief lack of attention to steal his badge back from his brothers.

"That's enough!" he snapped, their antics grating on his last nerve.

"Boys," Hope said in a tired voice, "play nice." She turned her big green eyes on George. "Please? For me?"

"Sure!" George said with a wide grin, the tips of his ears a little pink, making his twin snort. "Yeah, we'll just head up to bed now—"

Fred winked at her as they ascended the stairs after their younger brother who quickly –and sleepily– bid his friend goodnight. Percy made to follow them when Hope stalled him with her words.

"Spare a moment, would you, Percy?"

Percy Weasley glanced over her, taking in her sleep-lined features, despite her lively green eyes which glowed strangely in firelight. She looked very exhausted, as if she hadn't slept well in a long time.

"I have an academic question," she added at his confusion (and concern). "I wanted to do an extra credit paper on Nicolas Flamel for Professor Binns, but I'm not quite sure what kind of book would have something about him."

"Nicolas Flamel?" Percy repeated. "The famous alchemist?"

Hope snapped her fingers, a grin touching her lips. "That's the one! So, do you know what kind of…?"

"Well, the man is over six-hundred years old," Percy admitted, "maybe the books you're looking in are too modern?"

Her surprise melted quickly. "Thanks, Percy!"

Percy smiled gently as she dug through her bag for her books. "No problem, just try not to stay up too late, alright, Hope?"

"You got it," she responded, her finger tracing down the page as she skimmed for the name. Percy got the feeling that she wasn't really listening to a word he said, but there was no use in responding, she probably wouldn't hear it either way. So, he muttered a hasty goodnight and ascended to his empty dormitory, leaving her in silence.

He was over six-hundred years old? That would explain why he wasn't in _Great_ _Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ , or _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_ , or _Important Modern Magical Discoveries,_ or even _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_. Those books would all be to up-to-date for him to appear in.

Hope sighed a bit forlornly. She didn't feel like going upstairs to grab any of the ancient books in the library of her trunk, but as she sat there in deep thought, she decided she would to grab her new (and old) invisibility cloak.

 _Use it well_ , her note had said, and what else could she do with it but walk about the castle when most others were fast asleep? It was almost too hard to resist and five minutes later she was moving invisibly through the halls. She was mildly tempted to investigate the Restricted Section of the library, but as she already had the general idea of who Flamel was, there really was no point to, so she merely wandered about, simply gazing at the pictures she passed. She had never particularly noticed how beautiful some of them were.

Then, she had to stop, to scowl at the suit of armor that was staring right at her even with her invisibility cloak. Sir Michael Richmond was a strange suit of armor. Its visor creaked as if it was smiling underneath. Hope wasn't sure how long she stared at him in aggravation, before she stepped backwards, almost bumping into a professor but catching herself at the last possible second and teetering away from him suddenly.

It was Snape. She held her breath, her hand covering her mouth and nose effectively as he stared right at her. It was quite a bit like the way the suit of armor had, but his was unnerving, because she knew he couldn't see her, but she had the feeling that he knew she was there.

She backed away from him slowly, careful to make as little noise as she could, moving backwards until she was out of his sight and she could breathe again. She gulped the air greedily, resting her back against the door that she had hidden behind. Her lungs felt as though she had swallowed fire; exactly how long had she been holding her breath?

It was only when she opened her eyes that she realized she had no idea where she was.

The cloak fluttered to her feet as she stood, gazing inquisitively at the only item that lay in the room. It was tall, nearly reaching the ceiling and hidden behind a lengthy maroon sheet. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she limped forward to grasp a bit of the material and yank it from whatever it was hiding. She gave the barest of tugs and the sheet fell, pooling at her feet, revealing what lay beneath.

It was a mirror. That stunned her, because why on earth would someone want to hide a mirror? It was beautiful too, she had to admit, standing on a pair of golden clawed feet that matched its intricate golden frame. Carved into the frame that was spread across the top were letters and words that made no sense to her: _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi._ They weren't from any language she'd ever read, not that she'd read many to begin with, so it must have been a code. A code written on a mirror… her eyes narrowed, her lips moving soundlessly as she read the letters backwards, as words often appeared in reverse when shown in a mirror: _I show not your face but your heart's desire._

Heart's desire…that was a bit foreboding. Her breath shook as she breathed in and out slowly, her eyes closing before she could even look upon the reflection.

Theoretically, she could leave this room and pretend she'd never gone exploring, but at the same time, she wished to know what her greatest desire was. So, at long last, her eyes finally fluttered open to stare at her reflection.

At first it was simply her, standing there, twisting the black stone on her ring with a sorrowful expression. Hope knew that expression well. Then she was shifting and changing. There was a woman standing there now, one Hope barely recognized as herself. Her hair was pure white and her eyes incredibly black, scarred and with a broad grin, hefting a crossbow in one hand. At one shoulder was Nath was a casual smile of his own and at her other…

Hope reached out a hand to brush her fingers against the surface of the mirror.

Nath never liked her talking about Mirror Lady, the woman Hope saw from time to time in reflections…the gentle hand and smooth voice she dreamed about. But there she was.

Her skin was dark, her hair a mass of black curls, and eyes as dark as Nath's. A cloak made of raven feathers cascaded from around her shoulders, and there was something vaguely like Dean about her smile.

She'd lost count how many times she'd dreamed about her and thought she was her mother until she'd actually seen a picture of young Lily Evans. And the first thing she'd ever felt towards her mother was disappointment, as sad as it was.

Mirror Lady leaned forward to press a kiss to the back the head of Hope's older appearance in the mirror, squeezing her shoulder, and Hope could've sworn she'd felt it.

She stumbled backwards in shock and a spiteful voice inside her head whispered, _There you go, Hope, what you really want is a family of your own with two adults that are the closest things to parents for you, one of which isn't even real!_

She felt at a loss as she stumbled backwards and away, but it wasn't like she could change what she wanted to see, could she? Her eyes fell instead to the floor so she would not have to feel the obligation to stare upon the mirror's reflective surface once more, because she had felt the keen sting and ache that enveloped her heart, leaving a residual pain that lingered.

* * *

It was late at night when George slipped soundlessly down the stairs, shivering at the cold. He wasn't sure why it was that he was so cold, because Fred had been sleeping soundly in bed next to him. So, he had left the dormitory to make his way down the stairs to sit before the fire.

"What are you doing?" a tired voice proclaimed from the couch.

George swore as he stumbled and fell on his face, twisting to stare at Hope.

Her eyes were closed, giving off the impression of sleep, though her lips twitched into a smile. She had a number of blankets wrapped around her and the _Tales of Beedle of Bard_ and a small book had fallen open to the ground perhaps minutes or hours before.

"Er…nothing," George said quickly, feeling secretly pleased that she had been reading his book.

She opened one sleepy green eye, the fire dancing in her eye, making it appear as mystical as the moon outside, before closing it rather lazily. "What're you doing down here?"

"I was sleeping," she said in irritation, "you know, dreaming."

"About what?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Some inventive ways to shut you up, now _go to sleep."_ Which was a bit hypocritical of her, if you asked him, because he could no longer count on his fingers the number of times he awoke early in the morning to find her in the common room, usually in the company of Dean Thomas, their books open on their laps, snoring on each other's shoulders. Ron had said Dean had nightmares just like Hope so George had to wonder if the pair of them actually got any sleep.

"Oh yeah?" George quirked his eyebrows in amusement. "Like how?"

"Go _away!"_ she groaned, burying her face in her pillow that had been pushed against the arm of the couch.

"No, seriously, what are you doing down here?" he asked her.

She lifted her head, her eyes twinkled. "Sleeping, Weasley, now, off you go." Then she paused. "Wait…why are you down here?"

George shifted uncomfortably, garnering her unabashed interest. She didn't comment on how obviously cold he was, simply crooking a finger towards him, inviting him closer. As soon as he was near enough to touch, she cupped his cheeks with her warm hands, letting out a hiss of surprise.

"You're ice cold!"

She dragged him slightly closer, brushing the back of her hand against his forehead and cheek. "What have you been doing, Weasley?" she admonished him as she pulled one of the blankets from around her to tuck around him like a majestic cloak. " _Geez!_ Have you been sitting in an open window?" she demanded, her eyes sparking in the firelight.

George opened his mouth to refute, but his cheeks had flushed so suddenly with heat that he found himself at a loss of words. She looked so pretty when she was angry on his behalf, and at him, at the same time.

"That's very helpful," Hope added dryly, ignoring the blush on his cheeks as best as she could, though she couldn't help but wonder what had brought it on. "You're a menace, you know?"

"It's been said," George agreed, regaining the use of his tongue.

"I hope so," she said in return, ignoring the unintended pun on her name that she had used. "I didn't get to tell you earlier, but I really liked your present."

A pleased grin lit his face. Hope tried not to blush at the sight of it. "Really?"

"Yeah," she agreed, "but what are the _Tales of Beedle the Bard_?"

"Oh, they're a collection of children's stories," George informed her with a smile. "Mum used to tell them to us when we were kids. Did you like them?"

"I haven't had the chance to read it yet," Hope admitted, blinking harshly in the half light, rubbing her eyes and giving a wide yawn. "Are they any good?"

"Depends on what you like," George offered, "Everyone's got a favorite, I suppose, and everyone's got one that they'd rather hear first to get it over with."

Hope quirked a curious eyebrow, a soft smile lighting her lips, making her face seem more alive. "Oh? Why's that?"

George looked at her oddly. "Well don't you have a least favorite and favorite fairy-tale? Don't muggles have fairy-tales?"

The smile her face now bore was on the bitter side, but also filled with deep longing. "They do, but I never read or had any read to me, I preferred _the Hobbit_ and _the Lord of the Rings_ a hundred times over to those unrealistic fairy-tales of theirs," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "Nath only ever told me one story, anyways and its tragic."

George had no idea who Nath was, but whoever they were made her entire countenance brighten, the opposite of when people brought up her mother's family.

"What's a hobbit?" George asked in confusion, thinking it better not to ask about the unknown Nath.

Hope's eyes lit up as she laughed. "It's a being that lives in the fantasy world of Middle-earth, and they're very short and walk barefoot. They don't approve of adventures but one of them always manages to go off on one…I wanted to be a hobbit when I was a little girl," she said stoutly.

George was staring at like he'd never quite seen anything like her (which was quite true, but never mind that). Short, he could see, barefoot, also, and seeking an adventure, that was a given. "I think you'd be a good hobbit."

She smirked. "Coming from someone who doesn't really know what a hobbit is?"

"Nope!" George said.

Amusement lifted her lips. "I could read it to you, if you like, _The Hobbit_."

His blue eyes watched her for a long moment, which would have been unnerving if she wasn't so used to looking into his eyes. She wasn't sure what it was that he was looking for in her eyes, but she was certain whatever it was couldn't be found there.

"I'd like that."

She was so focused on his eyes, she'd almost missed his words. She blinked twice. "Huh?"

His lips twitched. "Storytelling, I'd like it."

Her beaming smile outshone his as she scooped the fragile looking book from where it lay atop a book on Greek Mythology. George noted that the spine was falling apart from how often she'd read it.

 _"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit_ ," Hope began, the bright smile still lighting her face as she read the long-familiar words. _"Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."_

"Why does that mean comfort?" George found himself asking, much like a child interrupting their story-telling parent with needless questions.

"Because homes are filled with comfort, now hush!" Hope admonished with a grin. _"It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats – the hobbit was fond of visitors."_

Neither knew how long they sat listening or reading from that book, but Hope's gentle earth-enriched voice paired with the warmth of the fire lulled George to sleep in no time, the last words he heard and understood being: _"Bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams. It was long after the break of day, when he woke up…"_

* * *

Hope worried Ron. It wasn't the normal worry either, as she typically worried him with that leg of hers and that clever tongue that got her into so many detentions with Snape. She worried him because she had an obsession with that old mirror.

Ron had seen it's strange, mysterious powers himself – _him,_ Head Boy, Quidditch Captain!– but the way Hope was drawn to it couldn't be healthy. Her temper was rearing its ugly head too, so now Ron had to be extra careful about what he said to her. He could only hope that she'd snap out of it soon.

Hope, on the other hand, though Ron was being ridiculous. She was _not_ obsessed! Hardly! She just couldn't help but be fascinated by a mirror that could show you what you wanted, whatever you wanted. What kind of magic was that, exactly? The mirror was certainly old, perhaps older than Hogwarts, and had carvings reminiscent to the Celtic Tree. She'd seen the same carvings at the main level of Hogwarts –at its foundation, appropriately– only in stone.

And so, on the third night, she returned once more to marvel at the ceiling-high mirror. This time, though, she wasn't alone.

"You can come out, you know," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance, "I can hear you."

For one startled moment, Hope was almost certain that she had imagined it, but then a smooth voice answered her.

"Your eyes are keen, Elpis." The words echoed in the silence, hiding the speaker's location, until-

She twisted around to glare with angry black eyes at the speaker. "It's _Hope_ , you _arse_ -hat!"

The soft chuckle emanated from the space of the doorway as a young man walked through it, seemingly unaware of Hope's venomous stare as he moved forward to stand beside the first-year, gazing into the mirror as well. She wasn't too surprised by his appearance, considering she'd already seen a picture of the youthful Salazar Slytherin and she'd already seen him before, albeit months previously.

"Quite a marvelous display of magic, no?" he inquired, his lips twitching slightly as he did so, glancing down slightly towards his many times great grand-daughter. "Took me a very long time to craft it, you know."

"You made it?" Hope was much too surprised to be angry this time. "I mean, I knew it was old…and the pattern is almost identical to the pattern on the bricks at the foundation of Hogwarts."

"Caught that did you?" He sounded a bit pleased that she had noticed. "Aye, I made it for your dear old grand-mum." He ran a hand along its surface, recalling when he had etched it by hand so very long ago, though, to him, it seemed like only short years as opposed to centuries.

"Oh?" Hope said, though her voice was soft. Salazar took note of it immediately as he glanced back at her, trying to gauge her reaction, but the dark –for her hair was now pin-straight and black– fringe hiding her expressive eyes from view.

"Morea was a very difficult woman," the man said with a laugh that far more light-hearted than he was portrayed, "and she was set on being a powerful, unmarried witch at the time, she wasn't someone you could simply _woo_."

"No matter how hard you tried?" she asked dryly.

He chuckled nervously, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Well, she was a beauty and had such a fiery spirit. She turned me down a total of thirteen times."

"For marriage or just courting?"

"That was just to court her," he admitted, "took me seven tries to propose marriage, but anyways, back to the mirror. I was trying to show her that even _she_ had something that she desired more than anything."

"Hm," was all Hope said to that. "You are a very strange man."

Her grandfather's eyes dropped to her leg that was in the thick wrap she wore while sleeping. His magic was weak as it was and his time in this realm was short; he could not heal her leg.

"I'm not asking you to."

He blinked his pale green eyes, meeting hers. Oh, he must have spoken aloud. The stony stare was one that he'd often been on the receiving end of, courtesy of Morea. He reached out a hand to steady her as she struggled into a standing position, but she ignored it, using her own strength to stand.

"I love a good challenge," she said with a smirk reminiscent of her father's, "and I don't need some century-old ancestor of mine keeping tabs on me. Go," her voice dropped, becoming soft, "be with your wife; she's waited long enough for you, don't you think?"

Salazar's eyes softened, raising a hand to cup her cheek as he did so. "You remind me a good bit of her," he said quietly, smoothing his thumb over her cheekbone. "Spirited with fire in the heart…and curious, ever curious. She had the same kind of curiosity that drove my son mad."

Hope froze into an ice statue under his hand, but he feigned ignorance at the effect his words had on her.

"He was a bright, fascinated creature, until he delved too deeply into the very arts you yourself are drawn to," he said quietly, his eyes shadowed and his face unreadable. "I pray that the same does not become of you, granddaughter."

"And if it does?" Hope whispered, her mouth dry.

His eyes glowed as he met hers, one last time. "It won't," he said with certainty, "because you have something that keeps you safe from the corruption magic leaves in its wake."

And then he faded from the world of the living completely, leaving Hope alone before that mirror of his.

Something that kept her safe from the corruption of magic? Hope had never heard a wizard or witch talk about it like that. Like magic was something invasive and bad. She couldn't help but think about how uncomfortable she was when magic was used on her.

"Back again, Hope?"

She screamed, _loudly_ , twisting around wildly, her wand tangling with her sleeve as she pointed it aggressively at the speaker. Not really a good thing, as the person who had spoken was Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Don't _do_ that!" she gasped, her heart still throbbing in her chest, too startled to realize how rude she was being. "I don't like to be—" She waved the hand that held her wand around for effect, giving her a chance to get a few gulps of air.

An amused smile settled on his lips and his eyes twinkled behind his crescent spectacles. _Crazy old man…_ Her heart rate picked up for a moment when she thought that the headmaster had heard the words she had exchanged by arguably the most dangerous of the Founders of Hogwarts, but then she realized that he hadn't been standing there long, so he couldn't have. She relaxed slightly as that knowledge seeped through her, reminding herself that some things should be kept secret, for more than one reason.

There was a reason she didn't tell anyone about knowing when people would die. And knowing that Quirrell's death date was fast approaching didn't really help things.

"So," Dumbledore continued with that mild voice of his, "you, like hundred before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

Her eyes drifted back to the reflective surface, almost involuntarily. She could call Nath anytime, he'd given her a mobile that seemed to work anywhere, but Mirror Lady wasn't even _real._

"Delights?" she grumbled under her breath. "Hardly." Delight was not a good word to describe this situation she found herself in. Taunting, perhaps, but not delightful in the slightest.

"I expect you've realized by now what it does?" Dumbledore continued, not having heard her grumble.

Hope twisted slightly to glance back to him. Was it her, or did he look a little sad? Perhaps he saw something he had lost once, he was certainly old enough for that. "It shows us what we want most in the world, even if it can't be granted to us."

The answer surprised and impressed Albus Dumbledore, who had thought she would need a bit of prodding to come up with it. Lily's daughter through and through; he shouldn't have expected any less.

"Yes," he said in agreement, "however, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men and women have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible." As he said this, her lips turned downwards, irritation settling onto her face.

Was that a jibe at her? She knew the difference between reality and illusion, _thank you very much._ "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Hope, and I ask you not go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, please remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

"In the mirror," Hope said suddenly, before he could leave, "in the mirror, what do you see, if I may ask?"

She saw a flicker of that aged sadness before he gave her a kindly smile. " _I?_ I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

The dubious stare Hope's face bore told tale of disbelief. Was that the best lie he could come up with?

"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore said, giving her a conspirator wink. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People _insist_ on giving me books." And with that being said, he left the Gryffindor to mouth wordlessly in his wake.

"Argh!" she burst aloud, slapping her cold cheeks feverishly with her hands until she was sure they were red from the movement. " _Stupid-stupid-stupid!_ Should've listened to Ron in the first place! _No good- foolish- rotten piece of sh—_ "

"Hope?"

Hope swung around on the heel of her good leg, her hands still on her cheeks. She must have looked quite the picture. "Ron?" Her first friend wasn't too surprised of her situation (she could see his lips twitching at how she looked, though), though a little exasperated. "What're you doing here?"

"Trying to keep an eye on you," he said with no short measure of annoyance. "You and that mirror are a bad combination, you know."

She wrinkled her nose at that, resisting the urge to get one last look at the mirror. It had, after all, been a creation of Salazar Slytherin, and could –arguably- be as dangerous as he had been in life. She grimaced. "Well," she mumbled, punctuating her words with a tired yawn, "you aren't wrong there, mate."

"When was the last time you slept?" Ron demanded as she stumbled forward, pulling one of her arms over his shoulders as he did so, the other wrapping securely around her waist.

"Mm…dunno," Hope slurred in exhaustion as he pulled her through the door (bending down to grab her cloak because she'd probably kill him if he forgot it), down the corridor and up a few stairs. Her brain wasn't functioning as well as it should, because she asked: "How many hours are in three days?"

Ron crooked an eyebrow at her, almost tripping over a step. "You haven't slept in _seventy-two hours?!"_

"Wasn't really tired at the time," she murmured as they came to a stop in front of the portrait hole, taking but a second to get into it, "but I'm really sleepy now… _weird…"_

Ron rolled his eyes at his friend who had collapsed onto the couch –which had become her makeshift bed during the holiday break–, hoisting the thick blankets up around her small body and curling her arm over her pillow and under her head. He was more than slightly amused when she fell instantly to sleep.

No sleep for three days? Ron could only shake his head at that. You wouldn't catch him doing such a thing as foolish as spending hours upon hours staring into a mirror that showed you something you would never have. He'd prefer sanity instead.

* * *

Hope slept through the whole next day, which was an impressive feat on its own, as Fred and George often forgot that she was slumbering away on the couch, unaware of all that transpired. Which was really lucky, because Fred had taken to concocting scenarios to how she would awaken; George kissing her awake was quite popular (George gave his twin a glare for that).

It was only the day after when she finally awoke, well rested. It was still dark out, but Hope hurried into the shower and into a fresh set of clothes before leaving the common room in a rush. It was a miracle none of the Weasley boys awoke from the noise she made, but she paid it no heed, limping down the stairs with her cane in hand, making for the viaduct bridge.

The sun had only just begun to paint oranges and pinks across the sky, luckily for Hope, who had long desired to see a winter sunrise, yet never seemed to awaken early enough to see the former.

"Miss Potter?"

Professor McGonagall was surprised to find one of her students leaning against a stone window of the viaduct. Her face was set in a surprisingly bright expression and her eyes –dark brown– were millions of miles away. She was positive she hadn't heard her. "Miss Potter?"

No response.

She reached out a gentle hand to rest it upon her thickly clad elbow when she jerked away suddenly, twisting violently, her eyes wild and turning bright hazel in her surprise.

"Oh," she gasped, resting a hand against her chest. "Professor! You startled me!"

"I can see that," Professor McGonagall said dryly, "shouldn't you be sleeping Miss Potter?"

"Sleep—?" she started in confusion before staring out at the early morning sun. She waved a hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "Oh, I slept the whole day away; Zeus knows I don't need any more rest."

Her professor's face grew concerned, but she just laughed and waved it off. "Don't look so worried, Professor, my mind's too active for sleep."

Her eyes grew to the same color of pink that was painted across the horizon as she leaned her elbows on the stone. She didn't know why, but she had an utter fascination with the sky, whether it be night or day, stars or not.

"And why, may I ask, are you out so early in the morning?" McGonagall asked primly, glancing her over with a careful eye.

The grin she gave her in response reminded her of the girl's deceased father a bit too much. "Why, to see the sunrise of course." She could hear James' amused sort of mocking way of talking.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course," she said automatically, reminded distantly of a young Lily Evans asking her if it really mattered how she had inherited her magic.

"Do you ever _not_ compare me to my parents?"

The tone of her voice was strangely blunt. It made McGonagall feel oddly guilty, as if she was the child that had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Honestly, she was startlingly like either of her parents that it was difficult to not view her as such, and she told her that (voicing it as delicately as she possibly could).

Hope's eyes turned an icy-blue and she gave a small huff of annoyance, muttering something unsavory under her breath. "I don't like when people compare me too much to my parents," she said finally, brushing her hair from her face, curling one strand around her finger as she did so. "They often forget that I am not them." Her eyes fastened on McGonagall as if to say "like certain professors, for instance."

McGonagall's smile was thin. "You have my sincerest apologies, if I have offended you." And she meant it.

"You haven't," Hope said with an air of amusement. "I was just going to see if you were going to admit it."

It was so utterly backhanded and Slytherin that McGonagall was impressed. She had enticed an apology out of her with very few words.

"I do not think your parents would have dared to do something like that," the older woman said dryly.

Hope laughed, her laughter bringing a new light to her eyes. "That is good to know." This whole situation was a bit odd, as students didn't typically have casual conversations with their teachers, unless it involved their grade or schoolwork in general.

"Then, would you mind if I asked you a question myself?" she asked, to which Hope gave a light inclination of the head, her eyes once again on the sky beyond.

"You're a metamorphmagus, so why is it that you don't change the color of your hair and eyes as often?" She had only seen it a few times when it was not that dark crimson that she had inherited from her mother.

"I was told that it suited me," Hope said calmly, though her cheeks had flooded with color, greatly amusing the professor. Like father, like daughter, she thought, being attracted to red-heads, and all.

"George Weasley is not wrong."

Her cheeks turned the color of beets and she stared, stunned at McGonagall. "Now, wait a _mo'_ , I never _said—!"_ Her words quickly faded into incoherent ramblings that she couldn't decipher, but at the same time, didn't need to.

McGonagall's lips spread in a slight smile as Hope turned up her collar against the wind and turned on her heel, still sputtering about professors and troublemaking red-heads. That was something she had often heard Lily Evans complaining of (though her thoughts involved "toe-rag" and "black-haired fool" more often than not), with slight variations, of course. But, now that she'd thought about it, she'd never heard George and Hope fight so vocally or rudely, if at all, as her parents had.

It seemed Hope really was a bit different than her parents.

* * *

Fred wasn't quite sure how he got roped into helping Hope make a snowman, but the fact remained that he had. One would have thought that she had confused him with his brother, but Hope didn't make such mistakes. As it just so happened, George hadn't finished his homework and had been forced by Percy to remain inside (with Ron as well, who had left his holiday homework to the last minute) and finish it. Hope had pouted and begged until finally Fred gave in (mostly so she would simply cease her behavior) and was dragged out into the freezing wind.

Hope's intense eyes –because, make no mistake, they were intense; he didn't know how George could stare so easily into them every day– were narrowed in concentration as she knelt in the snow, packing the snow together into a large ball.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked her with a quirked eyebrow.

She laughed lightly. "Of course, but this snowman is going to be the best snowman in the world, so I must give a little to gain a lot," she said stoutly in an almost childish gesture that got him for about five seconds until he realized she was joking. "'Course I'm cold, _you numpty_! I just want to make a snowman, that's all."

Fred stopped where he was making the body while Hope was making the base of the snowman. "Have you ever made a snowman?" he asked cautiously, silently wishing he had George to deal with all this.

Hope's thickly gloved hands stilled over the snow. "Why do you ask?" she inquired, her voice strangely high, giving her away.

"I just do," Fred said bluntly. "So? Have you ever made a snowman?"

A sigh of visible fog left her lips as her eyes fluttered closed for a short moment. Fred wasn't quite sure why, but she seemed to be gathering herself, like whenever his dad got angry. "No," she said finally, "I've never made a snowman in all my life."

"Why not?" Fred asked, honestly curious.

Hope pursed her lips at the question. "Because Petunia didn't want me mixing with her son, or having any kind of fun, now that I think about it. She thinks I'm a bit unnatural, so does her husband." She grinned suddenly. "Hence why I've been a complete utter _bitch_ for the last few years."

"You are unbelievable, you are," Fred said with a bit of awe, staring at her as if he had never quite looked at her properly.

"Thank you," she said, a smirk twisting into place, "but I think George might get a little jealous if you keep talking like that, Weasley."

Fred snorted at her comment as she pulled a carrot missing its tip out of her pocket and stuffing into the center of the head, using an assortment of colored buttons as the eyes, mouth, and (obviously) the buttons that went down the front.

She grinned feverishly, clapping her hands together in happiness. "See, told you! He's perfect!"

Fred wasn't so sure with a bulging belly like that (he wasn't quite sure how exactly it had gotten so big, but here it was, oh well). "Are you sure? He looks a bit on the plump side…"

"What are you talking about?" Hope chortled. "He's _beautiful!_ And I'm going to call him Bombur!"

Fred couldn't help but stare at her as if she had a second head as she hummed the lyrics to the song she had sung –embarrassingly– for George not several nights earlier whilst reading that first chapter of her beloved book:

" _Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks!_

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates—_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!"_

It finally made sense when George and Hope explained it a dinnertime, but at the same time, made no sense at all. And, thus, Hope became the not-so-official storyteller of Gryffindor House, reading the Hobbit late into the night until her three-boy audience had fallen asleep. She shook her head; Weasleys never changed, did they?

* * *

The weather was downright terrible when Hope had gone down to practice for the up-coming Quidditch match, and it hadn't improved at all during the few hours that they'd practiced, in fact, it probably got worse. Hope could hardly see her hand in front of her, though Oliver's voice was loud and clear, his irritation leaking through at the twins pretending to fall off their brooms (which was a bit foolish, Hope had to agree).

"Will you stop messing around!" Oliver demanded, barely being heard over the dull roar of the storm around them. "Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

It was not a pleasant taste that mud had, just ask George Weasley who had fallen from his broom only moments previously, swallowing a bit of mud as he did so. He struggled to spit it out, howling, " _Snape's_ refereeing?! When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if- _argh!"_

Five heads swiveled in the George's direction, trying not to laugh, because Hope, who had just landed, hadn't been able to see very clearly in the dark and mud, and had tripped, falling onto his back, pressing his face into the mud again.

"Sorry," she groaned into his ear as she rolled off him into the mud as well. "It's kind of dark, you know…"

Angelina hid a smile –though Fred was roaring with laughter– as she helped the younger girl stand, but the smile soon slipped from her face. "What's wrong? You're really pale."

"Snape," she muttered simply, "the bane of my existence…why do the gods curse me so?"

Alicia Spinnet snickered behind her hand as Wood called out the end of practice. "Come on; let's get you changed, maybe that'll get you in better spirits."

"Doubtful," Hope grumbled, but complied all the same, limping in the direction of the changing room until Oliver had to run after her and tug her in the opposite direction, the real direction of the changing rooms. The girls ended up deciding to shower in Gryffindor Tower, because it was a much better prospect compared to the showers in the changing room, and so, not ten minutes later (because one could move very fast when a shower was near at hand) the Chasers and Seeker were washing the mud and grime and sweat from their bodies.

One thing everyone had to get used to in Hogwarts was the shared showers, meaning there wasn't much time to be self-conscious of their bodies. Of course, there were separate stalls, but with thin shower curtains. If you wanted to make sure your clothes didn't get wet, you usually had to strip before entering one of the stalls (something that Hermione wasn't a fan of).

Hermione wasn't really surprised to find her best friend and her teammates having yet another discussion as they showered; it happened more often than it didn't. Angelina Johnson was leaning on the tiled separator between her stall and Hope's, her chin propped on her arms.

"A bad feeling?" she asked dubiously. "About what?"

Hope shot her an annoyed glance, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. "You know what: Snape."

Hermione slipped into the stall beside Hope, flushing darkly when all the girls called out greetings to her.

Angelina arched an eyebrow at the younger girl. "What, you think he'll play dirty?"

The direction of this conversation was quite confusing to Hermione as she tossed a glance to Hope who in turn tossed a glance to Angelina that said "Snape always plays dirty."

"Snape's going to be the referee for the next Quidditch match," Hope supplied with an annoyed wrinkle of her nose. "And I have a bad feeling," she added as an afterthought. She couldn't quite describe it, it was like knowing when people were going to die, something she could feel in her bones.

"A bad feeling?" Hermione repeated Angelina's previous words. "Why?"

Hope's eyebrows creased in irritation, her eyes dark pits. It wasn't a look Hermione was fond of being on the receiving end of, though, thankfully, she rarely was. "Oh, I don't know," she said, her voice bitingly sarcastic, "maybe it's 'cause he's a _cock."_

The air was suddenly thick with coughs and gags and gasps, but Hope paid none of them any heed, seemingly more focused on her hair than anything else.

 _"What?"_ she demanded when the stares were turned on her. "Oh, come on! He's the biggest piece of—" she called Snape something that made Hermione say " _Hope_!"– "that ever lived! He doesn't teach us anything! The only thing I'm ever going to learn in his class is how restrain myself from taking my silver knife and shoving it—" She mimed the action, much to Alicia's amusement. "He has something against me, mark my words; he'll make the match a living hell."

Angelina couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. "Maybe he's just got something against Potters and Weasleys," she said, trying to sound reasonable, but not really hoping to change her mind about anything.

Hope gave her a baleful stare. "Or maybe he's got something against Gryffindors, the ruddy _tosspot."_

Katie sniggered quietly as Hope dressed in silence, still muttering obscenities under her breath, before bidding them all goodnight, leaving several pairs of round eyes staring after her.

"Do you…do you think she's alright?" Hermione asked quietly, still staring in the direction that her friend had left.

"Meh," Angelina said carelessly, with a wave of her hand, "don't worry, she's just been pushing herself really hard lately, and her leg's been bothering her; I wouldn't be surprised if she started hexing some people by the end of the week."

Hermione grimaced as the others left her in silence and solitude.

Angelina was right about one thing; Hope had been pushing herself very hard, harder than she should have. Hermione thought maybe something had happened over the holiday, but no one ever mentioned anything, so she assumed it was just her being irrational.

Hope had been so preoccupied before the holidays, it had almost seemed as if she was missing out on an assortment of things, but now she was lively, very lively indeed. Hermione had almost stayed at Hogwarts for the short vacation because she was worried about her friend, but Hope had convinced her that she was fine and didn't need any looking after.

She had been sure that there was something wrong with her leg, because she'd gone to her last few appointments without her or Ron, but she never said a word about it. However, when she had asked Madame Pomfrey about it, the woman had seemed surprised. She said that there was nothing of the sort wrong with her, more likely than not, it was the stress of the on-coming exams or the Quidditch match, or maybe she just wanted to be alone for a bit.

Hope had never worried about Quidditch matches before, not since her first one, but then those matches hadn't been conducted by the professor who hated her the most.

Maybe she was on to something with that bad feeling of hers.

The next few days didn't help Hope's mood, and she actually had to have both of the Weasley Twins restrain her from killing that blonde-haired ingrate by the name of Malfoy.

"Don't play," Hermione advised one night as Hope rested her cheek on her fist, her homework lying unfinished on her lap.

"Say you're ill," Ron added from the armchair, "you look the part, at least."

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione offered.

" _Really_ break your leg."

Hope rubbed a tired hand over her eyebrow, trying to ignore her low throbbing headache (or soothe it with the movement, she couldn't be sure which). "I can't," she refused simply. "Oliver'll kill me if I back out because of some unjust ruling, besides, if I did, we'd have to forfeit, because we don't have a reserve seeker."

"You're too nice!" Hermione moaned. "What if—" _What if you're right? What if something bad happens?_ She didn't say anything, but she was sure the rest of her question showed on her face.

"I'll be fine," Hope assured her with that kind smile that suited a much older face. "You'll see—" Whatever else Hope had intended to say was cut short when Neville toppled into the room. The response: the whole common room erupted into loud laughter, annoying Hope as greatly as it had Hermione who had stood instantly, freeing his legs with the counter-curse.

Neville stumbled shakily over to the couch, on which Hope and Hermione had cleared a spot.

"Malfoy?" Hope asked sympathetically, sighing when he nodded mutely. "I tried to get me on my way out of the library earlier, but I knew the counter-curse."

"He got me there too!" Neville moaned into his hands. "He said he'd been looking for someone to practice it on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione said adamantly. "Report him!"

Hope tried to hide a snort; when did anyone take students seriously? She remembered how many times she complained to her Muggle teachers of Dudley, whether it be cheating or other forms of bullying, and how they never seemed to side with her, or at least always believed whatever lie Dudley put out. Like when he told everyone "She slipped", and that was how she got in the car accident; so, she was a klutz on top of being an attention-seeking liar. McGonagall may be nice, but at a certain point you had to stick up for yourself.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron was saying (had she zoned out? She must have). "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

" _Ron_!" Hope warned.

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville said in return, his voice becoming throaty and choked, as if he was holding back tears.

"That's not what Ron's saying," Hope disagreed, her eyes latching onto his imploringly. "There are different kinds of courage and the Sorting Hat saw that in you. Ignore Malfoy, you're worth twelve of him, and he _knows_ it," she said with finality to the round-faced boy, handing him a chocolate frog, "besides, he's an attention-seeking prat not worthy of yours." Sometimes when Hope spoke one had to take her words for granted, and this was one of those times.

"Thanks, Hope," he said, noticeably happier as he handed her the card that came with the chocolate before thanking Hermione as well and heading up for bed. Hope set the card on the small table beside the couch, staring into the fire once more.

Ron couldn't help but wonder what she saw in it, but Hope wasn't thinking about the fire at all.

She stared into the fiery depths, lost in thought. She hadn't told the other two that she had a rough idea about where they could read up on Nicholas Flamel, and she knew that she should have, but... Hope frowned slightly. The search for his identity had been put on hold after the whole Mirror of Erised incident, but now she really didn't have a reason not to look him up.

"Hope? Are you coming?" Hermione's voice could be heard in her periphery and Hope dragged her eyes away from the fire to look up at her friend.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Hope said automatically, grabbing her cane from the floor and standing with as much grace as she possessed –which, frankly, wasn't much–, following her friend up the stairs to the first-year dormitory.

She changed in silence and climbed in her bed, laying asleep there for what seemed like hours, waiting for her dorm-mates to drop off to sleep, which took a surprisingly long time.

And once they had done so, it was only then that Hope finally decided to look into Nicolas Flamel once more. She threw off the covers of her bed and grabbed her wand before climbing out of the bed to walk around it to where her trunk was located.

She fumbled with her trunk, using a very faint " _Lumos!"_ so that she might see the contents within. Hope mouthed the titles that the spines of the books bore, before finding the one she wanted and withdrawing it, locking her trunk once more, and climbing back into bed.

 _Greatest Wizards of Ages_ _Past_ was the book she had been searching for. It looked to be a bit of a bore, but the man who'd sold it to her had said it would be useful for History of Magic, and he wasn't wrong, there. And if it had something about ancient wizards, Nicholas Flamel would definitely have to count, since he was over six hundred years old.

Her illuminated wand tip was hidden behind the thick drapes so she wouldn't awaken her dorm mates, and tucked behind her ear as she skimmed the pages for one passage in particular.

_A Short Synopsis of Alchemy:_

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. An incorrect assumption was that the Stone could turn a base metal such as lead to gold or silver, when it can only turn metal to gold. The Philosopher's Stone has been a symbol of enlightenment or complete perfection, another reason for alchemists' to strive to create it._

_There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera-lover, who celebrated his six-hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six-hundred and fifty-eight)._

At last! _Success!_

A stone that could make one immortal, well, that would be something that a large number of people would desire. And there was the question of why Dumbledore would have it in Hogwarts; surely there were more secure holdings?

 _"Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want to keep safe— 'cept maybe Hogwarts."_ Wasn't that what Hagrid had said?

And then a vault had been broken into the day she'd gone with him to Diagon Alley, the same vault he'd emptied. If what he had removed from the vault was indeed the true Philosopher's Stone, then why hadn't the vault it was in been of a higher class? Or would that have attracted too much attention?

She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully, theorizing for a few minutes more –some theories possible, some not so much– before calling it a day and cancelling her light, replacing the book and wand beside her on the bedside table, closing her eyes and slipping into a deep slumber.

* * *

Hope leaned forward on her arms, the cool air brushing against her hair as she looked out upon the terrace. The weather was fair, not completely lovely, but then, it was only March, so she shouldn't have expected any less. Thick red gloves covered her palms and fingers so that her hands wouldn't freeze quite so much while clutching her broom. She frowned in annoyance at the soft noises her cane made with every movement.

Now Hope had a reason for why she hadn't told her friends of her recent breakthrough concerning Flamel, and that was mostly because she was feeling a bit more than slightly vindictive.

Bad feeling were real, they existed. Hope was more than a little annoyed that everyone thought she was being silly about the whole thing. Sure, Snape was a tosspot, but there was something else that sent a shiver down her spine. Bad things seemed to follow her onto the Quidditch pitch. So, Hope walked silently out onto the field, trying to calm her racing heart as she disappeared into the changing room, returning just as morosely.

"Hope?"

Her eyes shifted upwards to regard George's concerned blue ones. "Hm?" she mumbled quietly, her voice a little raw from trying to defend herself so much.

"Are you alright?" he couldn't help but ask her. She looked very anxious, more anxious than he'd ever seen her.

"Just fine," she murmured in the same quiet manner. He wasn't sure if she could raise her voice much higher than that.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" he prodded.

She gave him an odd look. Maybe she looked tired (which she was; tired of trying to explain herself over and over again) "I slept fine."

"Hope!" Oliver sounded relieved when he saw that his seeker was already there and in uniform. "Good you're here! I need to talk to you for a second."

She nodded mutely, rolling her stiff shoulders to follow her captain.

George shared a glance with his twin. "Did she look a bit…worried to you?"

Fred's face was marred in a frown. "Angie says she's been a bit anxious about this match, something about Snape, I think."

Well, George couldn't fault her there.

"Don't want to pressure you, Potter," Oliver was saying to Hope, "but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch, it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

Hope gave a lazy salute, trying not to roll her eyes at him. "Yes, sir."

"Are you sure you're alright?" he pressed after a brief moment of assessing her, catching sight of her over-flushed cheeks and slightly glazed eyes.

She threw him an annoyed glance. "I'm fine, stop asking."

And Oliver relented after she gave him a firm glare.

"The whole school's out there!" Fred commented from the door. "Even-blimey– Dumbledore's come to watch!"

"Really?"

Fred turned towards Hope's voice and balked slightly. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

Hope had bent over forwards so that her body, reaching down to the ground and then kicking her legs up, keeping them as straight as possible. She rolled her eyes –the most life he'd seen in her today– and scoffed. "It's called stretching, _genius."_

If Hope was already that annoyed this early in the morning then the day was already off to a bad start. George winced behind him.

Hope pulled herself into a standing position, her eyes a brown so dark that they were almost black. "I still have a bad feeling," she grumbled under her breath as she fell into line with the rest.

"Nothing's going to go wrong," Angelina said in exasperation, and just a bit of annoyance. "Stop worrying!"

The dark glare that settled on her face pulled Angelina's words up short, but, luckily, there was little reason to talk or even argue, as not several seconds later both teams marched onto the pitch. Hope couldn't but feel a little glad that Snape looked a bit angry, though she couldn't fathom why; it was a beautiful day. Her eyes shifted upwards slightly, or at least it was a clear day.

They said their pleasantries, which consisted of a tough handshake by both captains and an agreeable nod –since it was Hufflepuff–, and the whistle perched between Snape's lips began the game.

Apparently Hope had already begun to gain a bit of a reputation, because the first Bludger she saw was the one hurtling towards her collarbone. She rocketed her broom upwards, but she needn't have worried; George battered it away sending it –whether accidentally or on purpose, she couldn't be sure– towards Snape.

A penalty was awarded to Hufflepuff, but Hope thought it was worth it. She winked at George, who was grinning as he flew past. He almost missed the next Bludger; Hope took full credit for that.

Hope circled the pitch, eyes trained on anything that was gold, but in this crowd, that could be anything. Catch the Snitch fast, he said, before Snape gives Hufflepuff too many penalties, he said. _Fine_. Her eyes flashed to something that small and golden fluttering by the Ravenclaw stands. She didn't dare glance to the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, to see if he had seen it, already speeding towards it in a dive that few ever dared to do and even less at the speed she was going at.

Sharp dives were starting to become a signature of hers, something that both pleased and annoyed Oliver greatly (she suspected he was only annoyed because of the possibility of her getting ploughed). No one else minded as long as she made an attempt to worry about her own skin for once, which was rare.

She shot past Snape, hiding a smirk as she angled her elbow in such a way that it rammed into his side, but before he had the chance to call for a foul, Hope had pulled up, waving a clenched fist in triumph, inside which the silver wings of the Snitch fluttered weakly.

The roar was deafening; it had to be a record, someone catching the Snitch so soon after a match had starte-

_Wham!_

Hope didn't see it coming when something hard and round slammed into the back of her head, sending her toppling off the broom and into a freefall. She was barely conscious enough to hear the screams, but her world faded into blackness once her body collided with the earth. She _was_ conscious long enough to feel her bones crack and to feel the pain that resulted from them.

The whole school spilled out onto the field when the Gryffindor Seeker didn't move. Barely anyone had time to even think as Madam Pomfrey all but flew to her most frequent patient's side, her face pale with worry as her wand fluttered over the girl's body. If she had looked back, she would have seen the barricade the professors had to make to force the students back. If she had looked back, she would have seen how horrified both the Quidditch teams were. If she had looked back, she would have seen Hermione Granger in tears and Ron Weasley as white as a ghost. But, Madam Pomfrey had no time for such things, because, as it was, Hope Potter's life hung in the balance.

She needed to take her to St. Mungo's; this level of healing was out of her hands. She twisted the pearl ring on her pointer finger, cradling the back of Hope's neck so that the portkey wouldn't jar her head too much, before girl and Matron vanished from a sea of worry.

* * *

" _It's called flashing," Hope explained._

" _Flashing? Why do you call it that?" Ron asked, canting his eyebrow slightly._

_It was a few weeks after the troll incident –as it was now called, rather famously– and Hope had finally agreed to tell Fred and George how she could get around Hogwarts so fast. Ron and Hermione had opted to tag along, wondering just what exactly she was going to show them._

_Hope's eyes rolled towards George who sniggered lightly. "'Cause one second you're there and the next you're gone," Hope said with a shrug, "like a flash; I guess it was the best name my granddad could come up with."_

_Hermione's mouth dropped. "Your grandfather invented that teleportation method?!" He was the owner of that little leather bound book that Hope had read from when they were in the lavatory during Halloween? He would have to be incredibly advanced–_

" _Yup!" Hope said, popping the 'p' loudly as she smiled at George. "So, Weasley, apple or orange?"_

_He blinked, not quite understanding, but he answered anyways, in a completely flummoxed way. "Apple…why?" But by the time he blinked, she'd disappeared._

_Fred twisted around, glancing in every direction. "Okay…so—"_

" _Here you are." An apple was tossed lightly into George's open hands and four pairs of eyes looked at it as if it was some sort of alien creation or forbidden fruit...or something..._

_Then, Hope had the audacity to yawn as if disappearing and reappearing just as quickly was as common as breathing (which it most certainly was not). George looked down at the apple then back up at her with a bit of incomprehension._

" _It's not poisoned," she said in amusement, "don't worry, Weasley, if I wanted to kill you, I would at least be more creative than that."_

* * *

George felt awkward sitting beside Hope as she slumbered, but he had been volunteered, so he had little choice. It was a wonder McGonagall hadn't asked his younger brother or the Granger girl ("Her name is _Hermione_ , George," Hope admonished) to sit by her bedside. She was on the mend, the whole school had been assured of, but would be out of commission for a few weeks while she recovered from the extensive injuries she had sustained.

Hermione and Ron were taking it the worst, being her best friends, but even Angelina was feeling a bit guilty for tossing her worries aside. She had been right; every Quidditch game she'd played this year had been quite dangerous, so why didn't anyone believe her when she said that she had a bad feeling?

George exhaled loudly, curling his fingers around her limp hand. She was so pale and so small, the purplish smudges under her eyes stood out against her skin. Her hair was a silvery-blonde, almost hiding the blue-wait, what blue?

He frowned, gently brushing her hair from her shoulder to see the bit of blue coloring. What on earth was that?

"Still here?" a kind voice asked, making George quickly remove his hand and twist around to see a young woman in a healer's uniform. Her smile was kind. "You should get some rest."

"I'm fine," George said, but his stomach gave a loud growl.

The healer smiled. "Come on, I'll show you to the floo-"

"What's the blue mark from?" George asked suddenly, gesturing to his slumbering friend.

She gave him a strange look. "What mark?" she asked, moving forward and pulling out her wand and hovering it over the area he had specified. "Oh," she said, relieved, "it's just a transfigured burn, nothing to worry about. Was she in a fire when she was younger?"

"I, I don't know," George admitted. "She barely talks about her childhood."

She said nothing to that, a slight smile brushing her lips as she glanced over the mark again. "The person who made it probably thought they were being clever."

"Huh?" George said in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It's an iris," she explained, straightening up as she did so, "and its blue; that is symbolic of hope."

"Oh," he said dumbly, but neither said anything else on the matter. George frowned again, dropping his hand onto hers to squeeze it gently, and he could have sworn that for one moment, she squeezed back.

Hope shifted slightly in the bed, her shoulders tensing slightly as her brow furrowed.

"Is she…in pain?" he asked in concern.

"A bit," the healer admitted, "but that's expected, because we have to make sure everything's healing up properly; if we loaded her up with potions all the time, she wouldn't be able to know what was what."

"She would hate that," George agreed. "She hates when she gets sent to the hospital wing, always says the potions mess with her head."

She laughed lightly. "I know the type. Probably always has her nose stuck in a book?"

"Sometimes, but she's not much of a bookworm." This was very true. Where Hermione often spewed random dictionary definitions, Hope dumbed down or simplified her knowledge.

She winked after pulling the blankets more securely around her patient. "Don't worry, she'll be fine after she's rested a good bit, you'll see." And she left as swiftly as she had entered, leaving him in silence once more.

A soft sigh left Hope's lips as her tensed muscles relaxed and her fingers curled tightly around his, but she made no other movement.

George leaned down to lift a small spine-broken book from the pocket of his cloak, setting it down beside her. She would get bored with nothing to read when she ever woke up, besides, it _was_ her favorite.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You better wake up soon, Hope Potter, you hear me? _Soon."_

He didn't see the ghost of a smile on her lips as he left, her mind still a muddle of pain and potions, but his voice rang familiar to her, though she could not place it yet in her memory.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey peered intently over her patient, her face lined with worry as she looked over her charts. The bones were healing nicely –at a much slower rate so as not to damage her internal organs– held in place by the bandages that were wrapped around the majority of her body, spelled to keep the bones beneath the skin in their proper places, and only a few of her organs were still bruised.

"So, she's doing much better, then?" Madam Pomfrey guessed to the healer in charge of the student, Healer Archer. The girl hadn't stirred for nearly two weeks.

Archer smiled, patting the older woman's hand kindly. "Much better, Madam Pomfrey," she assured her, "she's tougher than she looks."

Madam Pomfrey's smile was a bit wry. "Oh, I know."

She reached down to smooth a loose crimson lock from her face when her eyes fluttering open at long last. They were the palest shade of green she'd ever seen, but it was the first sign of life in her that she'd seen in weeks.

"Hope!" she said in rather obvious relief. "You're awake! Finally!"

Those green eyes which had been staring at a spot on the ceiling above her shifted sideways to meet hers.

"P-Poppy?" her voice croaked, weak and raspy. "Wha-what happened?"

Madam Pomfrey couldn't even be a little annoyed that she used her first name –so much like James often had–, too relieved that she was awake, before she became quickly appalled at her attempting to sit up. "Don't do that! You'll—"

Hope groaned loudly in aggravation, cutting her speech off as she raised a hand to inspect the thick bandages around her arms. "Do I look like a mummy?"

"Only a little bit, Miss Potter," Healer Archer said in amusement, stepping into the space beside her, opposite Madame Pomfrey. "I'm Healer Archer; I've been monitoring you since you arrived."

Hope blinked owlishly at her a few times, looking the young woman up and down. "Healer," she said slowly, "like..." Her mouth was still a little numb from the potions and the lack of moisture so she settled on pointing at Madam Pomfrey.

"That's correct," Healer Archer said as Hope descended into a brief coughing fit, handing her a cup of water that almost slipped from her hands due to how weak and badly shaking they were.

"Ah…" Hope said tiredly, her eyes staring vacantly around her as if trying to ascertain where she was.

"You're in St. Mungo's," she added, but Hope only stared blankly at her. "It's a magical hospital."

"Of course," Hope said bemused, glancing at the healer that was running her wand over her body. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Archer glanced up. "Oh, just checking your vitals, making sure everything's working correctly."

Hope's eyes didn't trust, but she made no other comment concerning the matter. "What happened exactly?"

"What do you remember?" Madam Pomfrey countered, instead.

Hope's eyebrows furrowed as she attempted to recall the events that led to her accident. "I had just caught the Snitch," she said slowly, curling her fingers inward until they made contact with her palm, as if still feeling the tingle of the cold metal. "And then something hard hit me in the back of the head and I fell off and fainted."

"Well," Madam Pomfrey began slowly, "the Hufflepuff Beater who hit the Bludger had actually been aiming in the opposite direction, so the ball was charmed to head towards you. He's been feeling rather guilty about the whole thing."

"I would assume so," Hope grunted over the growl of her stomach. "Damn, I'm _starving_!"

Archer chortled slightly and excused herself to bring the Girl-Who-Lived her long awaited food.

"Be honest with me, Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey warned, reverting back to the girl's surname, "how do you feel?"

"Like lead," she said bluntly, lifting her arms experimentally with difficulty, "are they supposed to feel like that?"

"Lead is good," Madam Pomfrey said, pleased. "The bandages are a bit heavy, but the weighted feeling means that they're healing properly."

"So when can I get out of here?" Hope asked bluntly, collapsing back into her pillows with another low groan. "I _hate_ hospitals."

"I had no idea," Madam Pomfrey said sarcastically, "though I suspect you will be leaving sooner rather than later, now that the healers can use undiluted potions—"

"Uh, I guess that's…good," Hope muttered awkwardly.

Hope seemed to be a bit lost in thought, sliding one of her two rings onto her finger where they had rested on the bedside table. It gleamed in the barely lit room.

"What's that?"

Her attention had been directed to a small pile of gifts at the foot of her bed. Their presence seemed to surprise her, making Madam Pomfrey smile. And then her gaze shifted sideways to the worn book that lay on the bedside table.

"Was George here?" she asked suddenly, straining the muscles of her arm so that she could reach the book and lift it with difficulty towards herself.

"Oh, yes," Madam Pomfrey agreed with a sly smile, "he was probably the most upset after your…fall."

Hope's cheeks darkened, muttering under her breath, "We're just friends."

She didn't notice the amused smile Madam Pomfrey cast her way, and she had no way of knowing that Madam Pomfrey was going to return to Hogwarts and inform her friends of her awakening and perhaps subtly (or not so subtly) suggest to the Weasley Twins a possibility of a truly spectacular welcome back gift.

* * *

There was no one to greet Hope when she took the portkey Healer Archer gave her and was deposited out in the stone courtyard.

"You have been greatly missed, Milady."

Hope very nearly sighed at the sound of Sir Michael Richmond's voice, as she had now discovered why the talking suit of armor was always following her around (owing, no doubt, to Salazar Slytherin's last request) and she couldn't say she was impressed by how seriously he was taking it.

Hope opted to scowl at him instead, but the cool wind whipped her hair around, making it difficult to look at him without restraining it with her hands.

Hope was sure she would've preferred to Flash to the castle if she could've gotten away with it, but what could you do?

"I doubt that," she said calmly, "but you might want to be less obvious, Michael, people are going to notice when a suit of armor keeps following me around."

"I keep mostly to myself," a voice from within spoke defensively.

Hope arched her eyebrow again, dubious, but she settled on rolling her eyes at him instead. "To your post, Sir Knight."

He gave her a low bow and lumbered off, the sound of metal clashing together with every movement. He looked so utterly ridiculous, Hope could silence the small giggle that burst from her lips (she still blamed her grandfather for the whole thing; honestly, she didn't need to be watched like a child by someone who had been dead for at least a good thousand years).

She'd left the hospital despite them wanting her to remain for another few days, but Hope really hated hospitals. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with hospitals in general, or even doctors or healers, it was just that she didn't like being strapped to a bed. Not being able to move at all was possibly the most torturous thing she had ever endured; quite ironic considering her leg required her to not move for extended amounts of time.

She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her, hoping that it would shield her from the wind a bit more effectively, because, despite the fact that it was April, she was still in Scotland, and even they had cold weather. She glanced down at herself, noticing how muggle she looked and it made her smile.

The jacket was baggy on her, but she liked it too much to complain about the size (she'd grow into it), as usual, her legs were covered with thick tights, but her skirt was denim and worn, and her shirt depicted a band called the Weird Sisters, which she had no way of knowing that it was actually a Wizarding band.

She looked perfectly muggle, which was good.

"Hope?"

Hope turned to see Dean and Seamus gaping at her, surprised to see her in the empty courtyard, let alone standing.

"Hey," Hope gave a helpful wave before they both raced over to envelop her in a tight hug. "Oof!"

Dean was a steady presence early in the morning when she couldn't sleep, sketching that tree, the Blood-Soaked Tree, that they both had so many nightmares about. Hope knew people weren't supposed to share dreams, let alone nightmares, but she couldn't help but feel like there was something different about her and Dean.

Waking up in that hospital without company through her nightmares just reminded her of being ten and in agony in the Muggle hospital, wanting nothing more than to leave, which was probably why she'd decided to leave early.

"You all right?" Dean asked, ever concerned.

"Were you really in a coma?" Seamus asked, ever curious.

"Uh," Hope articulated helpfully, "I guess?" She scratched her cheek. "How has everything been here?"

Seamus waved his hand. "The same. Ron and Hermione have been worrying up a storm, they're in the Great Hall—"

"Thanks, I'll head that way," Hope grinned, "see you guys later!" And then she was moving as quickly as she was capable to pass beyond the doors and enter the rowdy hall.

A harsh light danced in front of her eyes, making her step back, almost tripping, even with her cane, and blinking frantically to clear her vision.

It was a star. Well, not a _real_ star, but this was as close to a star as one could get. In awe, she tentatively reached a hand out to the floating light.

She had told them she liked to star-gaze…it could be _no one else._ She laughed out loud and swung her cane forward, heading further inside.

At first, no one noticed her –strange, to say the least–, but people began to notice that something was amiss when the reflection of the sky above them shifted suddenly to a night filled with stars and the moon painting a lovely picture.

She was almost too busy admiring the scenery to notice the red blur heading her way, only catching sight of the twin a fraction of a second before she was swept into his arms with a hearty laugh.

 _"George Fabian Weasley,_ you put me down right now!" she ordered, despite her smile, ignoring the rising noise behind them.

"You are so…" George struggled to find the right words.

"Me?" Hope offered with a grin. "Oh, I know." Her green eyes glanced upwards briefly. "I like the present; very impressive magic."

His eyes lit up, and so did his ears, but that was nothing compared to his cheeks when she kissed one of them. "You are far too sweet," she said amused. "Oi! Fred! Get over here, I know you helped!"

Fred's casual smile never slipped as he gave her a tight hug. "I figured you wanted some privacy with Prince Charming over there- _OW!"_

Hope shook her cane aggressively at him, her cheeks only slightly flushed. "I have a cane, mister," she warned, "and I am _not_ afraid to use it."

Her attention was now drawn to the pair that she had missed the most, the two that looked the most like Hell. Red rimmed eyes and light bruising under the eyes told her all she needed to know.

"So," she began slowly, "which of you morons do I hug first?"

At those words, Hermione burst into tears, only slightly alarming Hope when she flung her arms around her and sobbed into the shoulder of her coat.

"Er…it's alright, see? Good as new. Well, I say new, but if I was as good as new then I wouldn't have any imperfections, which is impossible, since everyone's got those—"

"Shut up!" Hermione muffled into the material, before pulling back and quickly wiping her eyes. "You _oaf!"_

Hope held up a hand making a small space between her first finger and thumb as if to say "Just a smidgen."

"Miss me, Ron?" she grinned, her eyes glimmering blue when he gripped her into a hug as well.

Hugs all around, really. Hope lost track of how many people she actually hugged, in fact, she didn't remember much of that lunch until later when she had to empty it into a toilet after stuffing her face a bit too much. Being back in those walls gave her such comfort and relief, like coming home after being away for such a long time. She had missed it.

"Miss Potter."

Hope turned and grinned as her Head of House finally approached the table that she had been forced to sit at, squashed between her best friends. "Hey, Professor! Miss me while I was away?"

Her cheeky grin almost made the professor give a derisive snort, but her restraint was tremendous.

"Welcome back, Miss Potter," she said simply.

Hope's beaming grin widened and her eyes lightened to a hazel identical to her father's. "Thanks. It's great to be back."

And she wasn't lying.

* * *

"What d'you mean you found out about that _ages ago?!"_ Hermione wailed. "Why didn't you _tell_ us?!"

It had hardly been several days since Hope's return to Hogwarts, and she was hard at work, trying to catch up in all of her subjects, something that was proving incredibly trying for her. So, here she sat with her book open and her wand tucked securely behind her ear.

 _"The incantation in which to alter the metallic nature of an object i-_ hm? Oh, that might have to do with the fact that you lot thought I was a bit bonkers, wouldn't it?"

Hope skimmed through the pages, biting gently on the corner of her mouth as she highlighted bits of the next passage with a pink marker. She was too busy to notice how embarrassed and uncomfortable that made her friends. She was good at that.

"What'cha talking about?" Fred asked in confusion, lifting his gaze from the small lock he was trying to open with Hope's lock-picks. (" _Give me that!")_

"Nothing," the trio said quickly, earning several suspicious stares.

"That's really quite a convincing act," Lee said dryly from beside her, where he was attempting to assist her in Transfiguration and utterly failing.

"I am the Queen of Convincing!" Hope said, affronted, twirling her quill in one hand and curling a lock around her finger with the other. "I can lie my way out of anything!"

"Liar," coughed Alicia under her breath, earning a pout from the girl. They weren't necessarily wrong; Hope could never lie to Nath or to Sylvar, but her supposed relatives? No problem. Of course, she hadn't really done it as much as people thought, mostly because she was always assumed to be a liar, so why bother?

However, Hermione's horrified expression was truly hilarious, if the laughter was anything to go off of. Secretly, though, she was pleased that Hope was so lively as opposed to her time in St. Mungo's. On the other hand, everyone was practically smothering her, and poor Hope wasn't quite sure how to deal with all the attention. Oliver Wood, in particular, was quite difficult, in fact, he had been practically in tears the day she came back and hadn't ceased being an overprotective mother hen since.

Hope's lips twitched slightly as she tried to restrain the smile, but it didn't last long. Her eyes drifted to the watch strapped to her wrist and she swore colorfully. _"Crap!_ I've got exams in five minutes!"

She stood up so fast that Ron would have been surprised if she hadn't gotten a head rush. Her eyes met his for only a second, but he could read that expression well enough. _"When I get back, we're going to have a talk about whatever you haven't told me."_

Sometimes he really hated how well she could read people.

Hope barely made it down to Professor McGonagall's classroom on time (conveniently forgetting about her ability to Flash at the time).

"Sorry, Professor!" she gasped, completely winded as she clutched the stitch in her side, attempting to regain her breathing.

Her Head of House seemed startled by her condition. "Did you run here, Miss Potter?"

She sounded faintly worried, or maybe that was just Hope.

"Yup!" Hope said with difficulty, restraining from wincing as a hot flare of pain shot up her leg (like usual), though not as painful as it had been months prior. "Don't worry, I'm fine," she added when Professor McGonagall's face grew more concerned. _Seriously_! Everyone around her was turning into overprotective mother hens!

She took the large pile of papers (almost moaning in horror) from her, astutely ignoring the look and limping towards a desk, taking out her quill and ink and beginning a very long afternoon.

Very soon there was no other sound in the room other than the repetitive scratch of the quill against parchment and the sound of exhaled air. Hope hardly stopped writing from the second she started her exams to when they ended, but her facial expressions were a source of entertainment to Professor McGonagall. The relieved looks told her she knew some of the questions, but then the creased forehead (she knew some of the question) and the irritated frown (she didn't know how to answer the question at all) soon followed.

The steady tapping of her foot never halted, something that had always caused her classmates a bit of ire during exams like the ones she was taking now. However, they soon grew used to it, because it was highly unlikely that she would ever stop.

Hope's lip curled back in disdain when she glanced down the Potions Exam that had been assigned to her. Honestly, these questions were too high up! She was almost certain that her year-mates didn't have the same question, but who was she to complain? It wasn't like Snape would get called out for it.

_What are the ingredients of a Shrinking Solution and if brewed correctly, what color should it be and if brewed incorrectly, what color and state should it be?_

She sucked on the edge of her quill, pondering that one. The Shrinking Solution wasn't even in the First Year Syllabus, but Hope actually liked Potions –it was just like cooking, if you ignored the instructor–, so naturally she would have looked ahead.

_The known ingredients of the Shrinking Solution include: minced daisy roots, peeled Shrivelfig, sliced caterpillars, rat spleen, leech juice, cowbane, and wormwood. If brewed correctly, the potion turns a bright green color. If brewed incorrectly, it turns orange and can be highly poisonous._

The questions that followed were remarkably similar, which was good, because Hope excelled at memorization, if nothing else.

It must have been at least three hours later when she finally put her quill down and turned in every –blasted– piece of parchment and bidding her professor goodbye and limping out of the room with a relieved smile.

The corridors were practically empty, which wasn't too surprising, as it had been a Hogsmeade weekend (though the Laughing Gas and Co had too much homework that they couldn't go, or so they said) and most of the upper years were gone.

So, she had been very surprised when a voice called out "Potter?"

Almost involuntarily, she stiffened, only relaxing minutely to turn towards the owner of the voice –a voice she wasn't sure that she recognized. She turned swiftly on the heel of her good leg to scrutinize the speaker.

There were two of them, both boys, both wearing the black and yellow tie of Hufflepuff. The one who had spoken couldn't have been older than Fred or George. His eyes were a startling grey, and paired with the dark brown of his hair, she remembered him first as the boy who she had followed through to the train platform and then as the Hufflepuff Seeker. The second was rather plain in comparison with straw colored hair and dark eyes.

"May I help you?" she asked in a clipped tone that she had copied –quite expertly– from Professor McGonagall. She didn't bother hiding the smirk when they both shifted uncomfortably.

The one with chiseled features spoke first, Cedric Diggory, as he had been the speaker to begin with, seeming incredibly nervous about something as Hope watched on a bit bemused. "Er…my name's Cedric Diggory, and this is Anthony Rickett…"

She blinked staring at them oddly.

"It was my Bludger!" The younger one, Anthony, burst out suddenly. "It's my fault you were in the hospital!" He sounded so beside himself that Hope wasn't quite sure how to respond.

At long last, she sighed, tightening her grip on the cane as she did so. Her eyes met Cedric's briefly. "Would mind giving us a few minutes?"

Curiosity colored his pale eyes, but surprisingly not suspicion, which was something. Cedric had barely left when Hope spoke again, making the boy flinch. She wasn't that scary, was she?

"I would have thought the other professors would have told you by now," she said, speaking slowly with a distinct frown on her face. "That the bat you were holding was charmed so that any Bludger you hit would aim towards me." She remembered ducking the first one, with no time for the second.

"They did," he admitted, his cheeks such a deep beet red, "but…"

Her eyes softened minimally and a small smile lit her face. "You Hufflepuffs…too honorable."

His head shot up instantly, his mouth open to refute the insult, until he saw the look on her face.

She chuckled lightly. "Don't worry about it, it wasn't your fault."

And then she limped away from him, linking her arm around George Weasley's as he bounded up the stairs, free from a detention with Snape. Anthony could see his wild gestures from where he stood and hear her bright laughter.

Poor Hope had no way of knowing that Cedric later tracked down Fred (who was conveniently in charge of the Hope-George Betting Pool) to tell him "Five galleons on second year."

The foxy grin on his face was enough to earn him a wary glance from Hope, who subsequently treaded lightly around him for the next few weeks, for fear of a prank. The fact that one hadn't occurred caused her to be even _more_ paranoid, much to his humor.

* * *

"What d'you _mean_ Hagrid's got a dragon?!" Hope all but yelped before Hermione and Ron could shush her. Her appalled expression was perfect: mouth gaping, eyes so wide that it was almost comical. It would have been comical if she hadn't been so horrified. "When did this happen?"

"Er…" Her two friends shared uneasy glances. "Well, we just found out about it a few days ago."

"Wherever did he get it?" she demanded.

Ron took over from there. "Er…he said he won it off of a stranger in a game of cards."

"He's bloody _mental_ ," Hope decided, still thunderstruck. "Do you think he knows that dragons breathe fire and he lives in a _wooden house?!"_

"I don't think it's dawned on him yet," Hermione offered helpfully.

"Of course not," Hope grumbled crossing her arms. "What on earth is he _thinking_?"

This whole conversation was one of many concerning dragons and their foolish friend. Over the next few days, they theorized if it was indeed possible to raise a dragon in secrecy within a wooden house. The answer was rather obvious: _No._ It was a terrible idea, they all had to agree.

"I wonder what it's like living a peaceful life," Ron wondered mournfully not three days after their initial explanation to Hope.

"Probably very boring," Hope said with a yawn, her drooping eyes fastened on the text in her Charms book which she had propped up against the pumpkin juice jug. The amount of homework was unbelievable, but Hope still had make up what she missed (something everyone agreed was _totally_ unfair), thus amounting to many sleepless nights. She had taken to sleeping most of her weekends away. "And I _hate_ boring."

"You would have to," Ron mumbled under his breath, "to put up with Fred and George for so long."

Hermione giggled, but Hope –who had missed the mumble– looked confused, blinking furiously at him. "Did you say something?"

"Me? _Nope,"_ Ron disagreed quickly, earning a suspicious stare.

Hope opened her mouth to say something, probably a few choice crude words, but Ron was saved by Hedwig who swooped down to deliver a small note.

Her face fell as she read it before showing it to them, and the smiles slid from their faces at the two words scrawled hastily onto the parchment: _It's hatching._

Now Hagrid was really going to be in trouble. How exactly did one go about sneaking a dragon off to a dragon reserve when it was out of its shell?

Ron, of course, was all for going down to see it as opposed to attending Herbology class, but neither Hope nor Hermione would hear of it. Hermione, for academic reasons, Hope for…

"If you don't show up to class and your best friends don't and you don't have a plausible excuse, then people will know you're up to something," Hope advised calmly.

"I suppose you would know," Ron admitted grudgingly.

"Of course," Hope said with a wide grin. "Always have an exit plan." Her gaze shifted out of the corner of her eye, where she could see Malfoy lurking in the shadows. She frowned, instantly suspicious. "Let's talk about this later, alright?"

Once they heard the steely edge of her voice, they agreed instantly, but only after Hermione conceded to Ron to run down and visit Hagrid once lunch came around.

However, once Hope found herself opposite the large egg with deep and obvious cracks appearing on the shell and listening to the strange clicking noises from within, she was beginning to think that it wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't that she had something against dragons –they were incredibly _fascinating_ creatures– only that this was one that was coming into a world surrounded by creatures that _weren't_ dragons and didn't know the first thing about taking care of a baby dragon (Hagrid didn't count because his knowledge that he had obtained from the school library was minimal at best). What if it reacted violently? Hope couldn't help but worry.

She was distracted rather suddenly from her worries when a loud scraping noise came from inside the egg which then cracked open, revealing the baby dragon. Hope wasn't quite sure if she'd seen anything like it.

It was very ugly, was what she meant. It was midnight black with the vague appearance of a crumpled umbrella that gave Hope the desire to straighten it out. Its eyes were orange and flickering about the cabin, with a long nose and tiny little horns protruding from its small head.

Its head reared back quite suddenly as it sneezed, dislodging a few orange sparks from its snout.

"Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid said in a voice so affectionate that Hope couldn't help but stare. She opened her mouth to say something –she wasn't quite sure what– when Hagrid reached out a hand, intending –no doubt– to stroke the beast's head, but it only snapped at his fingers, probably thinking they were something to eat.

"Bless him," Hagrid chortled, "look, he knows his mummy!"

Hope caught Hermione's eye and was incredibly glad that she wasn't the only one who thought he sounded ridiculous.

"Hagrid," Hermione said, her voice a little strained, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid opened his mouth to tell her, possibly, when his face suddenly turned the color of sour milk, as he moved quickly to the window, seeing something the three students had missed.

"What is it?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school."

Hope looked out the window as well, her eyes narrowing as she saw Draco Malfoy's light hair disappearing into the courtyard. Now they really were in trouble.

* * *

By the end of the week Hope was convinced they should get rid of it, but Hagrid wouldn't hear of it. It seemed he was beyond the point of reasoning as they visited him on a Friday. And it was then that Hope thought of something rather brilliant, if she said so herself. Ron's older brother Charlie worked with dragons on a dragon reserve. His superiors wouldn't think too much was amiss if a rare breed suddenly appeared in Romania, especially since it happened at times –if that small article they had found was to be believed. It only took them a few days to get Charlie's reply:

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon, though your friend is right about how some of the rare dragons come here._

_Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

_Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love, Charlie_

The plan would have been prefect, if not for several kinks along the way, such as Ron's new injury. The youngest Weasley male had taken to visiting Hagrid, helping him with Norbert, as he had now named him. It was nice of him, if he hadn't been bitten by the dragon for his trouble ("When it bit me he told _me off_ for frightening it! And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby!"). And the next day it had swollen and bloated, turning a shade of green and being so numb that he had to go to Madam Pomfrey.

Of course, she didn't believe him when he told her a dog bit him, but she didn't press the issue. Perhaps it was that she was far too used to students getting into trouble and then lying about it. And then Malfoy added more to the chaos by "borrowing" Ron's book which conveniently had Charlie's letter in it.

The plan was unravelling, so Hope had to use some drastic measures.

Her hand closed around George's wrist. "Fred, d'you mind if I borrow your twin for a moment? I've got something I need to talk with him about."

Both of the twins blinked at roughly the same time, staring at her for a few seconds, before Fred said, "Er…alrigh-" He hadn't even finished talking when Hope began to drag the third year away.

"I need your help," she said seriously when they were alone. "And it's highly illegal."

"How illegal?" George asked, furrowing his eyebrows together in contemplation.

"Well," Hope said dryly, tugging on her beaded strand of hair, "it involves a dragon; use your imagination."

Eventually, the whole story came out, and Hope talked so much that her throat felt like sandpaper by the end of it.

"So, Hagrid has a dragon and you lot are trying to get rid of it by sending it off with some friends of Charlie's?" he asked finally, his voice strangely high pitched.

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Hope agreed, tapping her foot lightly on the ground, watching his reaction carefully. He seemed strangely closed off. "George? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine…it's just, first a troll, now a dragon? You don't ever take the easy road, do you, Potter?" He said with a shaky smile.

"Danger and trouble follow me constantly," Hope said with an amused grin, leaning forward with a devilish smile that always made George worry. "Now, are you going to help me or not?"

George wasn't sure how, but somehow, he had been convinced by a short, red-haired, stubborn, snarky, unyielding first year into illegal activities. Of course, George couldn't keep any secrets from Fred, so by the end of the night, he knew as well. And he had to be threatened within an inch of his life to keep his silence, which he did.

Hermione felt a little better about having one of the twins help, mostly because she was worried that it wouldn't work, which it would, Hope kept telling her.

So, Saturday night found Hope and George holding the crate that held Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback on opposite sides, mounted on their brooms and preparing to push off from the ground.

"Fred'll watch for anyone," he whispered to her, "just in case…you know."

Hope nodded, swallowing thickly. "I know. Ready?"

"When you are." He grinned as she rolled her eyes, pushing off gently from the ground, until they both hovered side by side with the crate making some suspicious ripping sounds (no doubt the dragon was dismembering the teddy bear that Hagrid had packed with it). "Up we go."

Getting up to the tower via broomstick was much easier than using the various staircases, Hope had to admit as she steadied her broom with careful precision. It had been Fred's idea, actually, who had said it completely as a joke, but somehow had been turned into this.

The tower was very high up, and by the time they had actually touched down again, Hope's heart was still beating rather rapidly against her ribs and her arm felt like lead.

"All right?" George asked as he watched her wring out her arm once they'd set the crate down.

"Fine," Hope muttered, "just pins and needles, that's all." She rolled her eyes at his half grin. "Oh, like you don't feel the same."

His grin spread, encompassing his face. "Oh I don't, I'm all brawn, you know." He gestured to his arms, making the slight muscle bulge and look far bigger than they were.

"And no brains, it seems," she said with a small giggle at the pout he gave her.

"Ah, but you're the brains of the operation," he said cheekily.

"And you're the flirt," she retorted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as it had flown up and into her eyes by the wind. "How on earth do you ever get anything done?"

"I have _skills,"_ he said in a lazy manner that made her bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud. "Oh, look, there they are."

Hope was a little surprised by how cheerful the small group was, considering that what they were doing was incredibly illegal. George knew one or two of them, but the rest were strangers.

"Thanks so much for doing this," Hope said gratefully once they'd buckled the crate into the harness they had made for it before hand. "I know it's not really…"

"It's no problem," the oldest one assured her, "trust me, this isn't the strangest request Charlie's given us." They all shared a private laugh, though George looked as if he wanted to find out what exactly was the strangest thing his brother had asked of his friends.

They gave one last goodbye as they all shook the pair's hands and went on their way.

"Interesting night," George commented mildly, looping his broom over his shoulder.

"That's a word for it," Hope muttered, pulling her invisibility cloak from out from under her shirt and beckoning him downwards. "Bend over, George, you're too tall."

"Too tall for what?" he asked, befuddled as she threw her cloak over them, making them disappear entirely. "What—?"

"I'm a woman of mystery," Hope said smugly, wishing she had her camera to take a picture of his complete and utter shock.

And that simple act was all that spared them from a fate of detention with Hope's irritating and annoying "rival", Draco Malfoy. But Hope wouldn't discover that until the next morning when the Malfoy scion glared at her as if hoping to vaporize her with his very eyes.

How unfortunate that Hope was a master of that look and unfazed by other's use of it.

* * *

With Hagrid's crisis averted, Hope, Ron, and Hermione could turn their attention once more towards the Philosopher's Stone. Obviously, it was still under that trap door on the third floor, and still protected by enchantments, as Ron and Hermione had discovered from Hagrid during her brief coma. How long it would remain there, they couldn't be certain.

Either way, Hope wasn't too worried when she went to sleep days after the dragon removal -Ron was still roaring with laughter that they'd managed to not get caught while Draco had detention and a loss of points.

_The first thing she felt was the collision. The pain was ripping through her leg as if she was being torn apart. The force of the hit threw her back, landing heavily on the pavement. Her vision shook as if she was moving feverishly back and forth, she couldn't get a clear focus on anything. She could distantly hear the sound of screeching tires and screams of people passing by, but they did nothing to help; the only sound she could be completely certain of was her heartbeat, fading and strengthening at different intervals. The ringing in her ears intensified as she lifted a hand with difficulty, feeling very much like her limbs had turned to stone, blood seeping out._

_The air was getting heavier, thicker, more difficult to breathe in…the world was getting blurrier, and that was before several blobs appeared beside her, lifting her up onto a stretcher, causing pain to jar through her. Then they tried to stanch the flow of her blood from her side, and Hope swore that everything turned white._

_"Hope! Hope, stay with me!" The paramedic was trying to keep her awake, keep her alive, but it wasn't working. The lightheaded feeling was spreading from her toes up. "We're losing her!"_

_Giving up was much easier than she anticipated. There was no one who was going to mourn her death, either way._

_And then she was floating, up and away from her body. Freedom…she had never tasted it before._

_Then there was a cold grip on her arm, and Hope felt life return to her, eyes barely opening enough to see a smile and hear a "There you are, dearest, keep breathing for me."_

Her eyes flickered open finally and she almost screamed.

What the ruddy hell was she doing in the forest when she was supposed to be asleep in her _bed?!_ She looked around frantically; of course, this would happen to her! In her bed clothes, in the Forbidden Forest, at Hades knows what time! _Seriously, whose idea of a joke was this?!_

She whirled around, fighting to make a sound other than branches cracking under her feet. In the quiet and in the blackness, Hope could see why Dumbledore had warned students away from the forest. As she thought about it, she could still hear his words from the beginning of the year:

_"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils."_

It wasn't a wonder why.

She twitched, twisting around at the sound of something moving in the dark. She gulped. Fred and George liked to sneak out here when they were first years, she knew, but why, she still wasn't sure. Of, course, they had never really run into anything remotely bad, mostly because they'd gotten chased away by Hagrid before they could do much damage.

Unfortunately, damage seemed to be something that Hope excelled at, much to her displeasure.

Well, there was no point in hanging around if she was only going to get attacked by creatures of the dark. And so, she began to take a number of cautious steps in the direction she thought led out of the forest. She had to focus her eyes on the ground rather than her surroundings not one minute later after she almost fell face first into the undergrowth, tripping over a big root that was sticking out the ground. Every so often a thread of moonlight would shine through the branches overhead, but she didn't pay much attention to it until it made contact with something that was a silvery-blue color.

Ever curious, Hope moved cautiously forward until she was only a couple feet away, and it was then that she stopped dead. Was that some kind of magical animal's blood? She clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling bile rise in her throat.

And then there was the question of what actually bled that color to begin with.

Hope mentally cursed her curious nature as she followed the nearly invisible trail of blood, barely standing out against the dark leaves that lay crumpled and strewn throughout the forest. She had a very bad feeling, much like before. The blood was now thicker and in larger amounts than before, dripping from jutting roots that Hope had to be very careful to avoid.

Hope jerked herself to a stop as she peered through the branches of an oak tree, gasping aloud at the sight before her.

It was a unicorn. The blood must have come from it as it attempted to escape whatever had attacked it. Hope wasn't sure if she'd seen anything quite so beautiful in all her life, so beautiful and at the same time, _so sad._ Its legs protruding out at odd angles as though they had broken, or at least tangled with each other as it had fell, with the silvery-white of its mane contrasting brightly with the dark leaves. Was it even alive? It wasn't moving, but maybe—

Hope took one step towards it when she froze rather suddenly, at the sound of something slithering, like a snake, but bigger, _much bigger_. Oh, please say there weren't massive snakes here!

But it wasn't a massive snake, as Hope had believed. The sound came from a bush on the edge of the clearing that trembled and shook as if someone had stepped on it, and then, the creature came out. Hope held her breath, hoping it wouldn't see her as it crawled across the ground like some human-reptile hybrid (Hades, she hoped there was no such thing). It didn't take long for it to finally reach the unicorn where it lay, and then it did something that made Hope choke on the breath she was holding; it had lowered its head and began to drink the blood pooling from the body.

She took one step back, wincing when her bare foot connected with a branch, making it crack under her weight.

The head jerked up suddenly, fixing her with a stare, even though she couldn't see its face. It was then that she realized that the moonlight had fallen over her, making her almost as obvious as unmoving unicorn. _Shit!_

It got to its feet and began to move swiftly towards Hope who was rooted to the spot in a mix of horror and morbid curiosity.

Then pain exploded around her. It was as if her head had been split open and lit on fire at the same time. The pain was so great that as she stumbled backwards, falling harshly onto her back. The pain did not pass even as she heard the sound of hooves battering against the ground, only leaving her when eighty-three seconds had come and gone. She, exhaustively, propped her elbows into the ground, leaning forwards slightly.

The hooves belonged to one person, and person was a relative term. He had four hooves that were connected to a horse body, only instead of a horse's neck and head, a human's body was connected to the front. It would have looked a bit like a twisted mix and match, if Hope hadn't been such a mythical nut.

Hope scrambled to come up with words, completely dumbstruck. "You're a-a-a- _centaur!"_

She hadn't even known they existed outside Greek myths! Oh, she was going to do a lot of reading over the summer…

"I am," the centaur agreed, seeming a little bemused by her reaction as he extended an arm to pull her up. "Are you alright?"

"Er-fine-yes, thank you," she stuttered quickly, "what _was_ that?"

To that question, the centaur seemed to have no answer, instead he simply stared at her with his very pale blue eyes, lingering over her forehead where she was sure the scar stood out angry and red as if burned.

"You are the Potter girl," he said, looking her over, no doubt taking note of the twigs and leaves in her hair and the dirt clinging to her clothing. "You had better get back to the school. The forest is not safe at this time ("No arguments here," Hope muttered) – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way." He bent his front legs forward into a sort of half-bow that was low enough for her to clamor on. "My name is Firenze."

"Are you sure?" she asked, slightly suspicious and slightly concerned. Were centaurs even _supposed_ to give humans rides? Somehow, it seemed like a demeaning gesture.

"Completely," he assured her as she hoisted herself onto his back, but before anything else could be done, the sound of more hoofs filled the air and two more centaurs burst into the clearing. They must have been galloping a good bit to be as sweaty and out of breath as they were. The one on the right had the body of a chestnut colored horse, with a tail and hair that was a reddish color, while the one on the left was completely black –black hair and a black horse's body, looking as though he was part of the darkness itself.

The one that was as black as night spoke first with a voice that echoed in the silence. "Firenze! What are you _doing?_ You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

So, Hope had been correct in guessing that it wasn't a good thing to offer yourself as a ride to a human. It was official; Firenze the Centaur was _awesome_.

"Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze, ignoring the centaur's crude words. "This is the Potter girl. The quicker she leaves this forest, the better."

Hope wrinkled her forehead in confusion, not quite understanding why it was such a problem for her to be in the forest, well, apart from the obvious, that is.

"What have you been telling her?" the dark one demanded lowly. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

His red-haired and red-tailed companion pawed the ground with one of his hooves, betraying his unease. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he said, speaking in a solemn voice that wouldn't be out of place at a funeral. Depressing sort of bloke, wasn't he?

The dark one's legs lifted and slammed into the ground in anger. "For the best!" His voice echoed loudly, making Hope glance around nervously. "What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Hope frowned a little at that, but wisely kept her mouth shut, and not two seconds later she had to clutch at his shoulders to stay on his back when he reared back suddenly, kicking his front legs up.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze demanded. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me _if I must."_

His vehemence seemed to temporarily stun the other two who couldn't even find the words to speak as Firenze turned around and made off through the thicket of branches, only slowing to a walk after there was a good bit of distance between them and the other two.

This finally allowed Hope the opportunity to talk.

"What was it that you saved me from?" she queried, an eyebrow quirking as she ducked under a low hanging branch.

He did not answer that, only offering a different question in its stead. "Hope Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

Hope pondered that for a moment. "I thought that using any part of a unicorn other than the tail or horn was strictly forbidden under the Potion Claus—" And she had only read about that because she had been completely bored in St. Mungo's.

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Firenze said in a solemn voice that quite similar to the one who was with Bane. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

Oddly enough, it sounded very much like when people were put on life support in muggle hospitals. Technically speaking, they were alive, but at the same time, it was almost as if they were dead at the same time. During Hope's visits to the physical therapist (she always choked a little when she said 'therapist', gods, it was like she was messed up in the head!), she sometimes passed hospital rooms like that. She'd always thought how terrible it would be to decide whether or not your family member should live out their days on a respirator or die painlessly.

"Wouldn't death be better?" she asked. "Why be cursed when you can live however long without being cursed?"

"Death would be better," he agreed with her first words, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you back to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die. Miss Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"

Hope's eyes became the size of dinner plates as realization rippled through her. " _Oh!_ Of _course,_ the Philosopher's Stone can make the Elixir of Life!"

"And can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?" he asked her in such a way that there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

She was reminded of the first time she had asked Hagrid about how her parents died, and, more specifically, who had been the cause of their deaths. _"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."_

The breath was strangled temporarily from her lungs. "You mean Voldemort," she whispered.

"Hope! _Hope!"_

Hope blinked in surprise as Hermione came vaulting down the path to come to a stop before her and Firenze. It was hard to tell which girl was more surprised.

"Hermione!" Hope said aghast. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't find you anywhere!" Hermione said pitifully. "I got worried—"

"And rightly so."

Hope winced at the sound of Professor McGonagall's crisp no-nonsense tone. _Crap._ She was in so much trouble, and none of it was her fault. Talk about bad luck; she was probably the unluckiest person in existence.

"I know what you're thinking, Professor," Hope said quickly, because that was the only way the strict professor was going to hear her case, "but I was minding my own business –sleeping, mind you– and when I woke up, I was here and there are things in there that make weird noises!"

The look on McGonagall's face said that she didn't believe her for a second. Hope could practically feel the weight of the points she was going to lose.

"Accidental apparition…I've never heard of it happening during sleep," McGonagall said finally, making Hope's head jerk up.

The expression on her face was one of horror. She clapped her hands to her cheeks. " _Oh, no_! I was Flashing!"

"I thought you could only Flash to places you'd been, personally?" Hermione asked, befuddled.

"That's what I thought too," Hope agreed, the pair unaware of the confusion that Professor McGonagall felt, out of the loop of what they were talking. "I've never been anywhere near the Forbidden Forest except when we go visit Hagrid…I dunno how that works, really."

It was when she stopped to ponder this that she realized she was still on Firenze who spoke suddenly, as if to remind her of his presence. "This is where I leave you. You are safe now."

Hope jumped off his back with a movement that jarred her foot. "Thank you, again," she said sincerely, "you saved my life."

"It was no trouble," the centaur said in a rumbling voice that told her how grateful he was that she was grateful of him. "Good luck, Hope Potter. The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."

Those words felt a little more than a bit ominous to Hope who tilted her head upwards to look up at the planets. Only one of them was bright red dot in the sky…Mars, probably.

"I really didn't mean to end up here, Professor," she swore as they trudged back up to the castle. "And I'm really sorry that you got woken up. Please, _please_ don't take any points!"

She was trying to look as cute as possible, pressing her hands together in front of her lips and making her eyes look rather large.

"I will not take off points…this time," the transfiguration professor warned, "but do try to not make a repeat of tonight, Miss Potter; you have already caused me a large amount of stress."

"Thank you!" Hope cheered.

"However," Professor McGonagall continued, "I want you to write a short essay in the stead of detention."

 _"Aw!"_ Hope complained, pouting and making Hermione giggle, but that was just a façade. She was still thinking about what she had seen in the forest. The creature, Voldemort, drinking the unicorn's blood…the very memory of it made her gag. She couldn't imagine falling so low as to drink something like that.

It was much later when Hermione asked her, whispering so that they didn't wake up their dorm mates, "Did you see anything in the forest?"

To which Hope had replied with utter surety: "Nothing human."

* * *

The problem with exam week wasn't the exams themselves –gods knew Hope had spent too much time reviewing with Hermione and Ron–, but that it was so bloody hot! She was starting to think that was the point of having exams in June, so that it was too hot for anyone to even think straight. So, it was very much a relief when they left their last exam to relax on the sunny grounds.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," Hermione said as they plopped their bodies down onto the grass, soaking in the sun under the willow tree that overlooked the Black Lake. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."

Hope did her best to ignore her friend, massaging her bruised brain. She had definitely over-studied, if that was possible, which it was. And then she had recently been getting a number of frequent stabbing pains in her forehead, making Parvati and Lavender think she had exam nerves since she wasn't sleeping, but it wasn't that. She was just having terrible nightmares that gave her little peace, more terrible than usual.

She'd taken to avoiding looking at Professor Quirrell, with his death date nearly upon them.

The Weasley Twins weren't far off, tickling the Giant Squid, making Hope smile before she frowned, rubbing her forehead, aggravated.

"Hope, go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggested as she watched her friend rub at her forehead until it was bright red. "If it hurts that bad, then go."

"She'll be of no help," Hope said dismissively. "Scars aren't supposed to hurt. Besides…I think it's a warning or something, like danger's coming…"

However, Ron and Hermione didn't share her opinion there, much to her irritation.

"Hope, relax, Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around." Hope tried not to roll her eyes at how unconcerned Ron was about the stone that could both make you rich and live forever. "Anyways, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets down Dumbledore."

Hope sighed, but conceded that some of that may be true. Then she tugged off her falling-apart shoes and her socks, standing up.

"What're you doing now?" Ron asked warily.

Hope winked. "Relaxing." She limped over to where the Twins and Lee (plus the girls who waved at her from a couple meters away) were in the Black Lake. The water was soaking through the pant legs of their uniforms, but they didn't seem to mind.

"Hey, Potter!" George gave her an enthusiastic grin that her heart do cartwheels. "Come to join the fun?"

"I suppose, Weasley, if that's what you call fun," Hope said in a mock-disdainful voice.

"Oh, absolutely," he said with a saucy wink.

"Is the water cold?" Hope continued conversationally, glancing into the shallows.

"Just a little," he said, holding out a hand. "Want to meet the Giant Squid?"

"Is he nice?" she asked, taking his hand.

"Very nice," he assured her, "has a thing for red heads, too."

"Uh-huh," she said sarcastically, taking one cautious step into the water. "Not bad…a little coo—"

"What did you do to your head?"

Warm fingers cradled her forehead in his hands as he inspected her brow. It was still red from where she had been rubbing it, but the scar was the color of blood, as if it was still fresh. Irritated, she pulled her face from his hands.

"It's nothing," she insisted, "I'm fine."

The look he gave her told her that he didn't believe that for a second. However, she was spared from the words when someone called off to the side: " _For the love of_ _Merlin_! Just snog already!"

Both red-heads turned the color of cherries, but then a flat rock shot out to smack against Lee Jordan's forehead, courtesy of an angry Hope. The throw had enough force that it actually made him fall backwards into the water.

"You. _Complete_. _Utter_. _**Arse!**_ " Hope seethed. "Get over here so I can kill you!"

Thrown through a loop, Hermione and Ron watched from the sidelines as a water battle ensued.

"Do you think they realize they walk right into those moments?" Hermione asked Ron, slightly amused as Hope tripped and got soaked in water all the way up to her waist.

"I don't think so," Ron said after a moment, "but I think Fred and George think it's hilarious how she reacts. Well, George thinks it's cute, I guess, Fred's the one who finds it the funniest."

Well, no one said they weren't good for comic relief, that was for sure. Alicia and Angelina joined in the fight to even things out, when Hope fell into the water, almost submerging her whole body as she shook her wet hair out of her eyes which then fell on Hagrid's Hut, the smoke rising out of the short chimney.

"Of course," she murmured before fighting her way towards Ron and Hermione with a dumbstruck expression on her face, soaked completely to the bone.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"I've just thought of something," she said with an insistent tone of voice, though her cheeks were a few shades off of the color of snow. "We have to go see Hagrid. _Right now!"_

And then she was hobbling barefoot in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, much to the annoyance of her friends who had to race to catch up with her, which was sad by itself, seeing as she was notorious for being slow.

"Why are we going to see Hagrid?" Hermione gasped once they'd caught up.

"Isn't it just a tiny bit strange that what Hagrid wants more than anything in the world is a pet dragon and some stranger in a pub just _happens_ to have one? I mean, they're a First Class Non-Tradable Creature, how many people would go around carrying one in their pocket? A bit lucky, wasn't it that they happened across Hagrid, wasn't it? Why didn't I _see it?"_

"What are you going on about?" Ron demanded, but she didn't answer him, banging loudly on the door.

Hagrid answered it immediately with a bright grin. "Hullo. Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Ye-" Ron started to say, but Hope cut across him before he could much.

"We can't, we're in a bit of a hurry. Hagrid, you know the night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing against look like?" Hope asked, slightly out of breath, her heart beating frantically in her chest.

"Dunno," Hagrid said with a shrug, "he wouldn't take his cloak off."

Hope was appalled and Ron and Hermione were stunned.

"It's not that unusual," he assured them as best as he could, "yeh get a lot o' funny folk at the Hog's Head – that's one of the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn't he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

Oh gods, he wasn't that gullible, was he?

"But when you talked," Hope pressed on, "did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

She watched as his forehead creased into a frown as he tried to recall what had actually been said. "Mighta come up," he admitted. "Yeah…he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here… He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I looked after… so I told him… an' I said what I always really wanted was a dragon… an' then… I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks… (Hope gave a quiet groan at that) Let's see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted… but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it to go ter any old home…So, I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy…"

"And, the man, was he interested in Fluffy?" Hope asked in a voice that was deathly calm.

"Well," Hagrid seemed a bit surprised by the line of questioning, "yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep – "

Oh, _gods_. He knew how to get in. The day had just gone from bad to worse.

* * *

It was a complete bloody miracle no one had suspected them of anything, because Hope was pretty sure the three of them looked pretty suspicious. With Dumbledore out of the school and with Snape knowing how to get past Fluffy, the Stone was up for grabs.

After Lee had finally meandered up to bed, Ron had nodded to Hope who then pulled her father's invisibility cloak from under her shirt.

"We'd better put it on here," she said barely higher than a whisper, tucking her wand behind her ear for safe keeping as she held the cloak out, "just in case it doesn't fit over us completely, we wouldn't want anyone to see three pairs of feet wandering about disembodied."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, Neville," Hope tried to assure him, but even though her face was convincing, Ron and Hermione's were quite guilty.

"You're sneaking out again," Neville guessed, his eyes turning a little frantic. "You can't go out again! You'll get caught and Gryffindor will be in so much trouble!"

"Neville," Hope said tiredly, "you don't underst—"

"I won't let you!" Neville said, seeming to gather his wits slightly. "I-I'll fight you!"

It would have been comical, if they weren't so pressed for time. Moving faster than Hermione would have dared to think Hope could, Hope had grabbed the heaviest book she could find closest to her and struck it against the base of his skull. Neville crumpled instantly to the floor, boneless.

Ron and Hermione gaped at her.

" _What?_ " she demanded. "We're running low on time."

And they were, so, for once, they didn't complain as Hope threw the cloak over the three of them, making them vanish from visibility. The trek there was as terrifying as the enchantments they knew were ahead. Every step was laced with uncertainty and every breath was weighted with worry. It was almost miraculous when they finally made it to unscathed in their minds.

When they reached the corridor, the door was already open, and seeing it there made the danger they were facing more real.

"You can always go back if you want," she said quietly, "I'll understand if you don't want to—"

"Don't be thick," Ron said.

"Of course, we're coming," Hermione added.

Hope glanced at them, her smile touching her eyes. "You two really are the best mates a girl could have."

Even entering through the door caused noise and through some talented flute tunes, courtesy of Hermione, the beast began to slumber once more.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," Ron surmised, looking over Fluffy's back. "Want to go first Hermione?"

The thunderstruck expression on Hermione's face didn't need a translation. Hope and Ron pried the door open.

"It's too dark," Hope whispered, glancing at Ron, "can you see anything?"

"No," the Weasley boy admitted, "just blackness. I don't see a way of climbing down."

"We'll have to drop," Hope said. "I'll go first, shall I?"

Ron nodded mutely.

"If anything happens," Hope continued, trying to keep her voice calm, but Ron and Hermione could hear the tremor, "go to the Owlery and get to Dumbledore. Tell him what's happened."

"All right," Ron agreed.

"See you in a minute…I hope."

And she scooted so that her legs hung over the side of the trapdoor and with one mighty push, she was freefalling into the shadow. It took only seconds, but Hope felt as though it was longer when she collided with the bottom landing against something that felt a combination of soft and firm. She was instantly suspicious of the softness, but she still called up to her friends that the landing was soft, and they soon followed.

Hope touched it lightly. It felt like a plant…was this one of the challenges? Probably Professor Sprout's, then. Hope could barely make out Hermione who was at least two feet from her, so she jumped when the girl spoke.

"We must be miles beneath the school…"

Hope looked back up to where the trapdoor was, a little surprised that it was so far away. Had they really fallen so far so fast?

"Lucky we had a plant to cushion us," Ron was saying as Hope began to struggle. _What the—?!_

" _Lucky?"_ Hermione had shrieked. "Look!"

There were thick, snake-like vines already wrapping around Hope and Ron, but Hermione had actually made it to the safe side.

The tight grip on Hope's injured leg was cutting of the blood flow and she could feel her ribs and wrists starting to bruise from how tight the creepers had wound about her body. A tendril had snaked around her neck and her vision was beginning to waver.

"Stop struggling!" Hermione called. "This is Devil's Snare! Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare… 'It's deadly fun, but will sulk in the sun!'"

"Then make a fire!" Hope gasped, clawing at her throat.

"But there's no firewood!" Hermione almost wailed.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!" Ron roared, making Hope wince and jump at the sound. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?!"

Hermione didn't seem to be able to dignify that with a response and not three seconds later, Hope could feel the vines that had wrapped around her receding, giving her the opportunity to crawl weakly to the wall where Hermione was.

"Oh God!" Hermione said in horror. "Your neck!"

Hope flinched as she reached out to touch the bruised flesh. She couldn't see it, but she could imagine how it looked.

"I-I'm fine," she croaked, massaging her throat a little. "We should get going, we've wasted a lot of time as it is."

There was no disagreeing with her there.

For a few moments as they walked down the passage, the only thing they could hear was the steady dripping of water, but then something else echoed in the quiet.

"Is that—?"

What Ron thought it was, Hope never found out, because Hermione had opened the door to the next trial. The next chamber was a little smaller than the last, but then, it wasn't filled with a massive plant, so that was good. Instead of a plant it was filled small, jewel-encrusted…what a second—

"Are those keys?" Hope asked dumbstruck. "Keys with _wings?"_

"They can't be," Hermione disagreed, but she looked closer. "On my god, they are!"

"How can keys be winged?" Ron demanded, staring up at them as well.

"Enchanted, probably," Hope wagered, tilting her head as she looked to over to the door opposite them. "One of them must be the key to that door…we probably'll have to catch one."

"Look!" Hermione was pointing into the cloud of metal and wings. "One of the keys! It has a crumpled wing!"

Hope followed her hand, to the key it was pointing at. She was right; one of the keys was having difficulty remaining aloft with its injury and its weight.

"So, what's the plan?" Hermione asked Hope, but she looked back at her friend, she wasn't there. She whirled around in time to see Hope mount one of the broomsticks and launch into the air. If Hermione had been the swearing type, she probably would have uttered a few vulgar words. Why couldn't Hope just think before she acted?

Hope swerved dangerously, looping and turning as all the keys aimed at her as if she was the enemy, but she never lost sight of the blue-winged, silver-colored key. It was rather quick for having a busted wing, but Hope was faster, and she cornered it against the wall, slamming all of her weight on it, cracking it onto the wall.

She would have felt a little sorry, if the thing was alive, but it wasn't.

"Next time," Hermione said, a little irritated as Hope turned the key in the hole, opening the door, "tell us the plan before hand."

"I'm a think-and-go kind of girl," Hope said with a wink as they entered the next chamber. "Oh, _please_ tell me the next one's how to cross a darkened room without light, I'm really good at that."

Ron wasn't sure he wanted to know why she was good at seeing in the dark. He took one cautious step forward, and then they all had to blink quickly, the light catching them all by surprise.

"Oh…" Hope said a little weakly. "Er…guys, this really isn't my forte."

The light above had revealed a massive chessboard set with just as huge chess pieces.

"Lucky thing it's mine, then," Ron said from off to the side. "Do you think we have to play our way across?"

"Probably," Hermione said weakly, gesturing past the white pieces on the opposite side of the board, "there's the door."

It was short work for the three of them to find their own spots on the board. Ron was a knight, Hermione a castle, and Hope was a bishop. And then the game began.

Hope had never quite remembered playing a game of chess where the stakes were so high. It didn't really hit them that this game of chess was exactly like wizard's chess, until the white queen slashed her sword through the other black knight.

"Ron, not to question your skills or anything," Hope said shakily, looking over to her friend who was now so pale that he almost looked like one of the white pieces, "but you do know what you're doing, right?"

"Y-yeah," Ron said weakly, "don't worry Hope. This is what I'm good at. Hermione, take the bishop."

Still, he seemed to get so into the game that three times he almost missed that Hope and Hermione were in striking distance. That was the thing that worried Hope the most, and one look at Hermione told her that she was just as terrified. This was one area Hope did not excel at, but even she could see that there were only a few moves left to make, and none without losing a piece, and there was only one that's loss would give them the win.

"I've got to be taken," Ron said in the same blunt manner that Hope sometimes adopted.

"NO!" cried Hermione.

"That's a bad idea," Hope agreed, conflicting emotions warring on her face.

"Some pieces have to be sacrificed!" Ron yelled back to them. "Once I make my move, that leaves you free to check the king, Hope!"

Hope opened her mouth to say something, but then Ron's eyes met hers, and the words were strangled from her lips. It was strange to think how alike Ron and George's eyes were and yet different at the same time. There was a pale fire burning in his eyes; determination.

She gave a jerky nod.

Hope had to throw up her arms when the queen struck her friend, sending him tumbling to the ground where he moved no more. Vaguely, she thought that this must have been what it was like for Ron and Hermione when that Bludger hit her in the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game.

And then she made the final move. Three spaces to the left.

Hope tilted her head back to survey the white king. "Check mate," she intoned duly and the king dropped his crown from his temple to the space before her feet. And then Hope and Hermione were gone from their spaces and at Ron's side in seconds.

Hope moved Ron's head slightly away from her so she could survey the damage.

"Is it bad?" Hermione whimpered.

"There's no blood," Hope noticed, "it's just a nasty bruise. He'll be fine, but we have to get going. We'll come back for him."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something, but then she changed her mind, linking hands with Hope and entering the next door.

Luckily for them, that trial had already been taken care of, if the unconscious troll was anything to go by. However, the next one was not. As soon as they had stepped through the door, eerie purple flames had erupted behind them, ensuring that they were trapped in the room with a table holding a row of potions.

"Let's get this over with," Hope grumbled as they came up to stand before the table and read the contents of the parchment that lay beside the row.

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in a line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those that stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different sizes,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second on the left and the second on the right,_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

"A riddle," Hope said in relief, "oh, I'm good at riddles. Shall we?"

Hermione nodded, looking a bit relieved at being able to use her cleverness in a logic puzzle.

"Okay," Hope said, cracking her knuckled. "So, the second on the left and the second on the right can either be poison or nettle wine, right? But the second on the right is the 'giant' so it has to be nettle wine." She moved those two back, still in position, but behind the rest.

"And poison can be found on the wine's left side," Hermione added, "so…" She moved back the bottle furthest to the left and the green pyramid-shaped bottle.

"The blue one has to take you forward," Hope added, lifting the little light blue bottle into the air, inspecting its contents, "because its already been used."

"And the purple one on the right has to take you back," Hermione continued, lifting it up, impressed by their combined brilliance.

Hope glanced into the blue bottle. There wasn't much left, only enough for one person. So, being the reckless, noble git Hermione would later claim she was, she downed it in a gulp and rushed through the blazing fire even as she heard her friend cry out her name.

The last chamber was occupied by the person who had been her second suspect after Snape himself, because, honestly, he was in too many places at the wrong time and was too jittery…and he was supposed to die today.

"So," she said remarkably coolly and calmly, "it was you after all."

The turban-wearing man turned from the mirror, the very same mirror that had once so entranced Hope, to face her. Quirrell no longer seemed to by the twitching mess he always was during school.

"Me," he said with scorn, "now, tell me, Miss Potter, what was it that gave me away?"

"You gave me a bad feeling," Hope said bluntly, side-stepping the aura around him predicting his death, "and you're _terrible_ teacher."

His lips curled into a sneer, making Hope feel silently pleased that she still excelled at being irritating.

"You spelled my broom to throw me off," she continued frigidly, "and when that didn't work, you made sure that Bludger would hit its mark."

"It was a pity none of those killed you," Quirrell told her, "but it matters not, because I'm going to kill you tonight."

With a snap of his fingers, ropes appeared out of nowhere, tightly binding Hope where she stood. She strained against them, wincing as they pressed into her bruised skin.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter," Quirrell continued. "Scurrying around the school at Halloween like that with your miserable little friends, for all I knew your friend Ron seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"You give us too much credit," Hope said snidely, her rings digging into her fingers.

"Or you don't give yourselves enough," Quirrell said absently, turning away from the bound first year to gaze upon the Mirror. "Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Hope made an irritated huff that was ignored.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured to himself, his fingers brushing over the arched frame, as if searching for some secret compartment. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this…but he's in London…I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

Hope frowned, peering intently at the back of his turban. Was it just her or was something moving under the cloth?

"I see the Stone…I'm presenting it to my master…but where is it?"

"First sign of insanity," Hope sang behind him, "talking to yourself."

"Can you be more annoying?" the man snapped, turning to glare at her, but she was unfazed.

"Oh, _absolutely_ ," Hope said, nodding seriously, "this is just the tip of the iceberg, I can do this _all night._ "

He made a derisive noise as he turned back to the mirror, missing Hope sticking her tongue out at him.

"You were my second choice," Hope said as he continued ignoring her, "after Snape."

"He does seem the type, doesn't he?" Quirrell sneered. "He's always hated you. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you _dead_."

"Such a comforting thought," Hope said dryly, rolling her eyes as Quirrell cursed.

"I don't understand…is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

"Well," Hope said contemplatively, even though he wasn't really talking to her, "if you _do_ break it and it's _not_ there, that's all on you."

"Will you _shut up_!" Quirrell commanded venomously. "What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

Hope opened her mouth to add in something rather derogatory, but then her heart stopped completely when a voice came from within that wrapped turban.

_"Use the girl…Use the girl…"_

Hope was released from the ropes and dragged forward until she was before the mirror, her legs so numb that she almost fell over.

"Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Hope felt as though her tongue had been glued to the bottom of her mouth and her heart beat frantically against her chest.

It was the second image that she had seen when she had found the mirror the first time around. Her older self with Nath and Mirror Lady at her side. Hope lifted a hand to press against the surface of the glass as her older self turned to look at her.

And then she held out a red stone to Hope with an amused grin, winking as she slipped it into her pocket. And Hope could feel it in her own pocket!

"Well?" Quirrell snapped with impatience. "What do you see?"

It was such an intensely private thing to ask about that Hope didn't feel fear at all when she turned and spat angrily. _"Go fuck yourself."_

She saw that slap coming a mile away, but that wasn't going to stop her, and she collided harshly with the ground.

"That was pathetic," she growled as she pushed herself up off of the ground, her cheek throbbing, "my cousin can hit harder than—"

His foot collided with her rib and she was pretty sure she felt it crack as pain blossomed through her side, leaving her choking on pain.

"Tell me!" he yelled. _"What did you see?!"_

The high voice from his turban spoke once more. _"Let me speak to her…face-to-face…"_

That idea seemed to make Quirrell very nervous. "Master, you are not strong enough!"

_"I have strength enough…for this…"_

Hope pushed herself off the ground again as Quirrell unwound the turban and turned so that his back was to her.

Hope's mouth opened in horror and she was certain that she would have screamed if she could have, but she was once again rendered incapable of speech. Where the back of the head should have been smooth, a face had risen out of the flesh. It was chalk white with red eyes that had her frozen in fear and instead of a nose, it had slits like a snake.

 _"Hope Potter…"_ the face rasped, sending a bad shiver down her spine. _"See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor…I have form only when I can share another's body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…Now…why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"_

Hope's heart beat frantically, her blood surging in her veins as she pulled out her wand and pointed and made a quick jab, causing the stone floor a foot or two from Voldy-Quirrell to explode, giving Hope the opportunity to scramble to her feet and limp towards the flame door.

_"SIEZE HER!"_

Hope screamed as Quirrell grabbed her from behind, tugging her back.

"Let me go!" she screamed, battering her fists against his hands, her pain amplified by his arms hitting against that damaged rib and her scar exploding in almost blinding agony. She raised a hand to strike at his face from behind her, and it was only then that he released her, and she fell, crumpling into a heap in a haze of pain, the world fading into blackness.

And then she knew no more.

* * *

She could hear a steady thrum of voices that her head was too hazy to identify. Some were quiet, some were loud, but she really couldn't be bothered; she was just so tired and whatever she was sleeping on was just so _soft…_

But the sleep was fading on fast wings and finally her eyes fluttered open to see a pair of deep blue eyes.

"You are in big trouble, missie," George said as she gave him a sleepy smile.

"Whatever for?" she murmured in amusement, rolling back her shoulders.

"The Quidditch match against Ravenclaw's tomorrow," George grinned, "and Wood's beside himself."

She chuckled lightly. "That doesn't surprise me…how bad am I?"

"Now?" George helped her hold the cup of water that had been set beside her on the bedside table and take a long drink. "You're pretty much healed, but when you came in?" He screwed up his eyes, trying to recall the list of injuries Madam Pomfrey had given McGonagall and Dumbledore. "Cracked rib, bruised limbs, a couple scratches…not too bad, considering your track record."

"Cute," she said dryly, sitting up in the bed, running a hand through her loose hair, "your bedside manner is so wonderful, Georgie." She patted his cheek, amusing herself at how it flushed at the touch. "How are Ron and Hermione?"

"As right as rain," a different voice answered her as Angelina sat down beside her. "Their injuries weren't as…extensive…as yours, so they've been healed up for a while. Fred's making sure they get some food." Angelina's careful eyes looked over her healed body. "I'm glad you're awake," she added with a grin, "you've had a lot of us worried."

"As usual," George coughed, earning a glare from Hope.

"Don't be such an _arse_ , George Fabian Weasley," Hope said, rolling her eyes at him in disdain. "Saving the world is hard work."

Her gaze shifted to the end of the bed and she goggled at the large pile of gifts and sweets that lay there. "Whoa. What's all this for?"

"Saving the world?" George mocked. "The rumor mill's been bursting since the three of you had your little adventure…I almost wanted to send a letter home to tell Mum what Ron's been up to just to see how much punishment he'd get."

"George," they both said reproachfully, chastising the boy.

"How did I get here?" Hope added, looking around the hospital wing, "the last thing I remember was falling in the…wherever I was."

"Oh, I heard some of the professors talking about that," Angelina said brightly, pleased that she had answer. "Apparently one of the suits of armor carried you out. They were surprised by the amount of devotion it paid you."

"So, it was Michael," Hope mused to herself, smiling fondly, "that idiot won't leave me alone."

"Who's Michael?" George asked suspiciously, but Hope just waved off his concerns.

"Sir Michael Richmond was young in the tenth century, George," Hope admonished, "he was once allied with my great – _gods know how many_ – grandfather. He tries to keep an eye on me, keep me from causing too much trouble."

"Not very successful, is he?" Angelina said with a grin.

Hope shrugged her stiff shoulders. "Well, I have told him to not interfere with my life, so… I'm surprised he even came and got me from that chamber…or how he even got there."

She frowned at that, a little befuddled, until Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. "Poppy! Did you miss me?"

The Matron clicked her tongue in irritation as she had her patient lay back down so she could run another diagnostic spell over her. "Not particularly, Miss Potter, I was growing so used to having all the beds in my ward empty, but then, I should have expected this…you and trouble go hand in hand."

"You know, I always thought 'Trouble' was your nickname for this bloke," Hope said with a laugh, jutting her thumb towards George who blinked and rolled his eyes, remembering what she had told him about 'Trouble' before her first Quidditch match.

"Not quite," Madam Pomfrey said in amusement.

"Hm," Hope appraised George with her eyes, "you look highly troublesome, George; I can see why we're friends."

A pale flush rose on his cheeks and he looked to Madam Pomfrey, a bit at a loss of words.

Madam Pomfrey mouthed "That's the potions talking."

"Okay…"

Hope twisted her head from side to side, making it crack. "Gods, I can't stand hospitals. When am I getting out of here?"

"Soon," Madam Pomfrey promised, "but your muscles are going to be a little sore either way."

"Well," Hope said dryly, "isn't that just lovely." One of the fingers of her hand tapped across the arm of the opposite one as she frowned thoughtfully. The last thing she remembered was Quirrell's screaming, clutching at the body parts her skin had touched. It was almost as if her touch had been like acid to him, but she'd touched other people loads of times, like when she hugged her friends or like when she just patted George's cheeks. Her touch hadn't affected them, and Quirrell had shied away from her hand the first time they met too, in Diagon Alley, when she'd offered her hand for a shake. So, it must have only affected him…or Voldemort. But why wouldn't Voldemort be able to touch her? It was all a bit strange, if you asked her.

"Hope?" Madam Pomfrey was looking at her in concern. "Are you alright? You just zoned out a bit."

"Oh," Hope said quickly, "don't worry, I was just thinking."

"Maybe that is a worrying thought," Angelina teased, standing up. "I'd better go tell Ron and Hermione you're awake…and we only just forced them to get some breakfast too." She sighed mournfully as she left, ruffling Hope's hair in a sisterly fashion that made the younger girl smile.

"Am I going to be free by tomorrow?" Hope asked Madam Pomfrey as she replaced her wand in her pocket.

"Worried about disappointing your House?" she asked.

"Worried about disappointing Oliver Wood," Hope corrected, winking to George who grinned, "I'm afraid he might drown himself in his sorrows if I don't show up."

Madam Pomfrey actually cracked a smile at that, and Hope knew there was hope.

* * *

Oliver Wood looked caught between crying and kissing Hope when he saw her dressed in full Quidditch gear awaiting them in the Gryffindor changing rooms, complete with a bright smile.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Oliver," she admonished of the boy, looping her broom over her shoulder. "We haven't won the Cup yet." Her eyes sparked with life. "But don't worry, we will."

Hope's enthusiasm was infectious that the rest of the team couldn't help but feel optimistic.

For Hope, this would be the first time she was on a broom where something (or someone) wasn't going to try to get her killed. It was _great!_ She couldn't wait to feel sun on her face and the wind whipping her hair with every move.

She looked up from struggling to tighten her arm guards to find George gazing at her fondly. Flushed, she tucked a lock of hair behind her eyes, making her new beads more obvious (she'd braided them red and gold for the occasion). "What?"

"I just don't think I've seen you smile so much before," he admitted.

Her grin widened. "Oh, I don't think so…I've never smiled so much until I met you."

His smile became a tad roguish. "Now don't go getting sentimental on me, Potter, I had such high hopes for you."

"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes in good humor, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, jittery with excitement before they finally made their way out onto the field amidst raucous cheering. The sea of red and blue made her blink a few times before her attention was drawn to the Ravenclaw Seeker.

She had never played against Cho Chang, but Oliver had drilled it into her to "know your opponent". She knew that the girl had a fondness of tailing others as opposed to actually doing the seeking, but she was light enough that she could out-fly her opponents. Unfortunately for her, this was not her lucky day, because Hope had both the eyes for it and the speed. She didn't bother hiding the smirk; she hoped it unnerved her.

Cho was a second year, she believed. She was a pretty Asian girl who had to be at least a little smart to have been sorted into Ravenclaw, but other than that, Hope knew nothing about her. As sad as it was, other Houses rarely associated with those outside their own; cross-House relationships were much fewer than ones within the same House. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with it, it was just that those that were in the same House saw more of each other than they did of anyone else.

Besides, Cho had always come off as a smarter version of Parvati or Lavender, being far too giggly. Gods, she hadn't ever thought there was _such a thing._

The whistle blew and the fourteen players pushed off from the ground.

"And a warm welcome back to Hope Potter after her little adventure out of bounds!" Lee Jordan was saying from the microphone. "Hoping for a win for Gryffindor today, no offense to you ravens!"

But Hope wasn't too surprised that they took offense, really, Lee was such a charmer. He had thought he was being clever when he brought in flowers that had had letters on the side spelling out "S-N-O-G G-E-O-R-G-E", she'd given him a very nice slap for that.

Hope spun her broom backwards so she could avoid the Quaffle that had been thrown towards her head. Honestly, everyone loved aiming at her head, didn't they? Unluckily, the movement turned in the favor for Gryffindor as Katie caught the large red ball and went speeding towards the opposite end of the field, giving Hope the chance to circle the pitch, searching for that flash of gold, but it was nowhere to be seen.

She glanced back, her face tinged with annoyance at the girl who was following her closely.

Cho waved.

Hope rolled her eyes, attempting to increase her speed so that she would lose her, but the girl was wily.

"And the Seekers seem to have engaged in a flight version of tag…"

Hope shot downwards into a dive, a very steep dive, before pulling up just as abruptly, pleasing herself with seeing how much force Cho had to exert to right her broom before she could get ploughed. She sniggered, a pleased smirk plastered across her face.

"Yet another reason why tailing the Gryffindor Seeker is a bad idea for people who don't want to end up in the hospital…"

Professor McGonagall couldn't help but feel a bit nostalgic when she saw that smirk, the superior smirk that James Potter had always worn. Even though she and Hope had had that talk about not comparing her to her parents, she just couldn't help it, they were just so alike. But that wasn't to say that Hope was arrogant, maybe confident, but not overly so. She wasn't much of a flaunter unless it was in a joking manner.

Hope looped through the air, high-fiving Alicia in the air as she went back to circling the pitch, her eyes intent on any flash of gold.

She must have caught sight of it –and they were only about a half hour into the game; not as impressive as the last one where she had caught the Snitch in under five minutes, but still– because then she was hurtling in the opposite direction, Cho closely following her, frantically trying to keep up, but Hope had the upper ground. She was outstretching her hand towards something that Professor McGonagall could hardly see, and then she pulled up. A bright, beaming grin was spread across her face as she waved her closed fist in the air, the silver wings fluttering weakly.

To say the crowd went wild would be an understatement. It was the first time in several years that Slytherin hadn't won the Quidditch Cup, and that made it unbelievably amazing. The Ravenclaws were good sports because, even though they lost, the Cup went to someone that wasn't Slytherin, something the other three houses had been trying and failing at for years.

Hope wished she had a picture for when Angelina, Alicia, and Katie all hugged her –screaming with elation; her ears would never recover– and when Fred and George kissed one of her cheeks at the same time, and then when Oliver promptly burst into tears, almost collapsing on her. The Twins had to haul him off long enough for Oliver to hand over the Quidditch Cup (tearfully) to his Head of House.

Hope wasn't sure she she'd smiled so widely in a very long while.

* * *

"Should you really be balancing on that?"

Hope looked up from where she was sitting on one of the stone rails, the rail squarely between her with one of her legs dangling in the free air. She grinned. "I like a little danger in my life, Georgie, didn't you know?"

"I might have guessed," he joked, leaning against the stone. "What's wrong? You left the party rather early."

Hope stared out into the beautiful terrace that Hogwarts was a host of. There really was no place more beautiful, was there?

"I'm just…thinking about what happened down in those chambers," Hope said quietly, strumming her fingers against her arm, "and I don't want to leave here and go back to Number Four. Hogwarts is… _home_ , I guess."

"Don't worry," George said with a grin, "I'm sure Ron'll convince Mum and Dad to let you spend some of the holiday at the Burrow."

"The Burrow?" Hope said, flummoxed. "What's the Burrow?"

"Oh, that's our house," George informed her, "don't people name houses these days?"

She rolled her eyes at his antics. "Not generally, no."

"Well, you should come anyways," he continued. "It'll be fun."

"If you say so," Hope responded easily, moving her body so that she was leaning against the rail as opposed to dangling precariously on it.

"Was there really a mirror down there?" George asked her suddenly, earning him an odd look. "Everyone's been talking about it, everything that went down in the chamber, and that was before you lot all got those points for your valor, or whatever it was… Was there really a mirror that could show you your heart's desire?"

A frozen smile appeared on her face.

"There was."

" _Only one who wanted to find the Stone –_ find _it, but not use it- would be able to get it, otherwise they'd just see themselves making gold or drinking the Elixir of Life. My brain surprises even me sometimes-"_

" _But how did you get the Stone inside of the mirror?" Hope persisted. "That mirror's at least as old as Hogwarts, you can't just put things inside of it."_

_Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but he offered no explanation, irritating Hope in ways that she would never understand. She didn't like his eyes, there was something about them that always put her on edge…_

"Would it be a bit… rude to ask what you saw?"

"A bit," Hope agreed, raking a hand through her hair, a soft smile lighting her face, making George wonder what it was that she saw, "but maybe one day I'll tell you."

"I'm going to hold you to that," George warned her.

"Can I ask you something?" Hope countered instead, and once he nodded, she continued: "What's it like having siblings?"

"Having siblings? But you live with your cousin, isn't that like living with a sibling?" George asked in confusion.

Hope scoffed, crossing her arms. "Dudley doesn't count…he's practically part whale."

George snickered.

"Besides, we've hated each other for as long as we've known each other, and understood what hate is," Hope said offhandedly. "Is it like that with your siblings?"

"Not really," George admitted, "I mean, sure, we get into fights now and then, but I don't think I could really imagine living without them."

"Especially Fred?" Hope grinned, bumping her shoulder against his.

"Life would be very boring without Fred," he agreed, grinning as well.

"Speaking of Fred," Hope continued, "I need a favor from the two of you."

"What kind of favor?" he asked as he was tugged none-too-gently back towards the castle.

"Nothing too strenuous," Hope laughed, "come on!"

If Hope, Fred, and George had anything to do with a number of Dungbombs dropped in the Great Hall as a last prank for the year, they would never admit it.

* * *

Fred and George weren't too hard to make out in the crowd, much to Molly Weasley's relief (those two always caused her such worry, not unlike how her elder brothers had been). And then she had to pause, because George was helping a girl get down off the train.

It didn't take her but a second to recognize the face of the deceased Lily Potter. The resemblance was uncanny. They hugged their various friends, waving goodbye. As she approached, she could hear Ron speaking to Hope and the brown-haired girl that must be Hermione, "You must come and stay this summer, both of you –I'll send you an owl."

"Sounds fun," Hope said with a grin, "anything to get me away from the Dursleys."

"Bye, Hope!" called Angelina and Alicia as they made their way to their folks.

"See you!" she called.

"See you, Potter!" Lee yelled over the noise, making her laugh and wave.

"Still famous?" Ron guessed with a grin.

"Maybe a little," Hope laughed, "but trust me, no one's going to know my name where I'm going."

Molly thought they looked very sweet, Hope smiling lightly, leaning not quite so heavily on her cane as she had before, her things already miniaturized and in her pocket as her other hand was linked with George's. George leaned down to whisper something into her ear, making her color at the comment. She attempted to detach herself from Molly's son, but he caught her hand again, giving her a wink.

"You are such a flirt," Hope complained.

"I work very hard to be like this!" George retorted amidst the laughter of his twin.

"This way, Hope!" Hermione called, tugging her towards a muggle couple off to the side.

"I'm catching a ride with Hermione," Hope said, "so I'll see you later, alright? Stay out of trouble!"

She should have given that advice to herself, but then, if she had, she would have never followed it. For once, maybe the summer holidays wouldn't be too bad if she was counting down to the silver lining…


	2. Year Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the flames for this fic are hilarious...because you guys do realize this is an edit/au of a 166 chapter fem harry fic, right?
> 
> Best of luck to anyone trying to read this in one sitting, but only four more chapters to go!

Hope Potter's summer started going downhill the moment she stepped back inside Number Four Privet Drive, and she nearly blew her top completely when Vernon locked her trunk in the cupboard under the stairs and put a padlock on Hedwig's cage.

Hedwig, was not very impressed with this, if it wasn't obvious with the scowl she had turned on the man and attempted to peck his hands through the bars of her cage as he slipped on the padlock.

It was almost July and Hope was bored out of her skull. She had, of course, picked the lock on the cupboard the day after her things had been locked away and removed her schoolbooks, parchment, quill and inkbottle, as well as her books on Blood Magick and the Ancient Arts and a journal into which she had made a number of notes into already concerning the Ancient Arts.

Hope was also annoyed by another matter, and that was that no one had wrote her any bloody letters! Not even one!

Okay, so maybe she had been hoping that George would write her at least one, but she was certain that Ron and Hermione would have sent her something, but no such luck. Hope had never felt so downtrodden in her whole life.

"I mean, I can understand Ron not sending letters," Hope complained to Hedwig –the only one who seemed to listen to her these days–, "but Hermione should've, at least."

Hedwig could offer no reply.

"Whatever," Hope grumbled, creasing the last of her Transfiguration homework and shoving it into her book before slamming the book shut on the parchment and opening her Blood Magick book again. "I don't care anymore," she decided, flipping through the pages with a flurry of fingers to look for the passage she had left off on.

Hope traced the Blood Sigil for 'healing' onto the last bit of empty space on the page of her journal before flipping to the next one as her eyes roved over the old book.

_Gemstones are a useful medium for employing Blood Magick in that they are one of the few substances that can take in the blood of the user. The effect that the blood will depend both on the runes carved into it and the type of stone it is. Thus, if the stone known both as a Bloodstone and a Heliotrope is carved with a healing rune, its magick is amplified, as opposed to the rune being carved into a simple stone with the user's blood, as Bloodstone is a gem used for healing._

Hope's eyebrows arched in surprise at this new information, but she was forced to shut the book quickly at the sound of voices beyond the door. Hope lurched to her feet, shoving the books and parchment and quill under her bed as she flicked off the light and clamored back into her bed, throwing the covers over herself and turning away from the door with only seconds to spare.

The door was creaked open as her mother's sister peered inside, her eyes falling on Hope's deeply-breathing form and then she retreated, leaving Hope alone.

Hope's eyes opened as soon as the door shut, though she did not move until the Dursleys had stopped moving around all the lights were shut off, bathing the house in darkness.

It was only then that Hope threw her covers aside, fishing out her torch and flicking the light on as she returned to her research yet again, because if there was one thing that hadn't yet failed her, it was magic.

Hope mutinously scowled out her window and into the night. Well, she wasn't going to wait for them to remember that she was their friend, nope, that was not Hope's style. If they wanted to talk to her, then they could do it themselves, because Hope had better things to do with her time!

_Common gems used as a Blood-binding element include: Crystal, Onyx, Moonstone, Opal, and Turquoise. Many gemstones are considered far too fragile to act as a base for Blood Magick. Even the weakest Blood Sigils caused such gemstones to shatter from the magic imbued with the runes…_

Hope couldn't remember how long she sat there on her bed with the torch in her mouth, its light shining down on the old parchment as she scrawled notes into her small journal, but before long she had to put the quill and ink aside and pick up her lock picks and stumble over to the window and throw it open before fixing the picks into Hedwig's padlock until it clicked open.

Hedwig was only so happy to leave her cage, even if she wasn't allowed to be gone very long, because being out for a short amount of time was at least better than not being out at all. Hope was sure that if Hedwig had to wait until the end of the summer to go flying, the owl would have been driven mad.

Luckily it never came to that, because of Hope's trusty lock picks.

Hypothetically, Hope could have possibly Flashed the trunk to her room, but she was sure the Dursleys would notice if it was gone, and besides, Hope had never Flashed something that was heavier than her.

And she certainly wasn't going to test it out now.

Hedwig hooted dolefully as she hopped onto Hope's arm.

Hope sighed. "I know, Hedwig, I miss Hogwarts too." And then Hedwig launched herself out of the window to hunt.

* * *

One upside to the summer was that she was closer to Sylvar and Nath, unlike during the rest of the year, and thus far, Hope had spent practically every day cloistered inside the Feywild Café, even if there was nothing to do, Sylvar was at least better company than the Dursleys.

"Make sure that chicken doesn't burn, darling," Sylvar hummed and Hope carefully flipped it over in the pan, while Sylvar worked on the sauce, which smelled absolutely heavenly. "That'll be a downer."

Hope couldn't help but laugh. "Are the potatoes done?"

"Already sitting out on table." Sylvar's eyes gleamed brightly and Hope could see just a hint of her pointed ears.

It was hard work getting Hope to enjoy cooking food again when it was something she'd been forced to do for the Dursleys for years, but Sylvar had been up to the challenge.

"All done? All right, now we pour in the sauce…" Hope stepped back slightly. "And let it seep in for a minute or two…now, darling, where's our dear Lord?"

As immensely amusing as it was, Nathaniel's last name was Lord, which brought on so many puns by itself that most of Nath's time spent in the café he was grimacing in chagrin.

Sylvar could do that to you.

"He's at work, saving lives, you know." Hope gave a careless shrug. "I called him earlier."

"Does he know you're going into your last therapy session?" Sylvar quirked an eyebrow, turning off the stove and carting the pot out to the table with Hope at her elbow.

Hope beamed widely. "He says after I'm done he'll take me on a trip to wherever I want." It was the nicest thing anyone had ever promised Hope.

"Oh really?" Sylvar smiled broadly. "And what did you pick?"

"Wales."

Sylvar groaned loudly, spooning potatoes onto Hope's plate. "You've got to broaden your horizons, Hope! Wales isn't that far!"

"I've never been to Wales!" Hope burst out.

"The next thing you'll tell me is that you've never been to Scotland!"

"I go to school in Scotland," Hope retorted dryly and Sylvar raised her cup with a " _Touché"_. "Besides, Wales is close enough that if people claim I've been kidnapped, I can come back in a hurry."

Sylvar gave her a look. "Didn't you spend the night at a friend's a few days ago because the Dursleys were annoying you?"

"Don't they always?" Hope muttered. "But yeah, I did."

Dean had given her his address, and she was surprised to find that it was only a few blocks away from where the Dursleys lived. Last week had been particularly trying, so she'd taken her cane and hobbled over to his house, chucking rocks at his window.

"Hope, what the hell?" he'd hissed, opening the window.

"Can I stay the night here?" she'd asked in a stage-whisper. "I can probably climb the side of your house, actually…"

His mother had been startled to find her son setting up pillows and blankets in the sitting room for a girl with a limp, but Diane Thomas had come from a broken family too, and when she looked at Hope, she'd seen the tired eyes, the tensed muscles, and the uneasiness with people she didn't know.

"Sweetheart, you stay as long as you like," she'd said, cupping Hope's chin and Hope had tried not to burst into tears, but the next thing she knew, she was bawling, and Diane had her arms around Hope, rubbing soothing circles into her shoulders.

Then she'd sat them down on the couch, reheated some food, put on Star Wars and let them stay awake into the early hours of the morning.

When she'd come down the next day, it was to find Hope and Dean fast asleep with their heads resting against each other.

"But I don't wanna overstay my welcome with them," Hope said to Sylvar. "The Thomases are great, but things always seem to go wrong when people report the Dursleys for anything."

It had been upsetting when she was a child without any knowledge about magic, but now it was just plain frustrating; somebody was messing with her life cosmically.

Sylvar hummed in annoyance. "What's in Wales?"

"The place my dad grew up is there," Hope said finally, cutting up pieces of her chicken. She'd gone rifling through one of the many papers that Ragnok had given her on the Potter family vaults and properties. Potter Manor had been the Potters primary place of residence, he'd said, and Hope had always felt a little disconnected from her family, so it seemed as good a place as any to start. "Its about four hours away, but Nath's promised to make a day trip out of it."

"Yeah, he's good like that."

Hope looked up at Sylvar, hearing something off with her voice, but not being so sure what it was.

"Anyways, none of your friends have sent any letters?" Sylvar asked. "Not even that boy you like?"

Hope began to sputter incoherently, flustered and annoyed and Sylvar smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze Hope's fingers. "I'm not trying to push you into a corner, twelve's pretty young to be dating, anyways, I'm just saying that he sounds like he's crushing on you pretty hard and from what you said, it sounds like you like him too."

She couldn't help but huff under her breath. "I thought it was a joke at first," she admitted to Sylvar, "I mean he was practically flirting with me and I'm…I'm a nobody." Not in the wizarding world, but certainly in the Muggle one and it was a hard belief to shake. "But his twin shut that down pretty quick."

Fred had scowled and crossed his arms in annoyance, angry at any slight to his twin, but he'd reigned it in and taken a breath, reminding himself that Hope wasn't asking questions because she thought little of George, but because she was confused and used to cruelty rather than kindness. "George wouldn't do that, not to anyone, and especially not to you," he'd told her flatly. "You're the first person he had a genuine interest in…and he likes it when you're happy. He's not the kind of person to mess with someone like that."

"Just as long as he's not pressuring you into anything," Sylvar nodded approvingly.

Somehow Hope couldn't help but find that completely ludicrous. George Weasley pressuring her into something other than going to sleep at a decent time or telling him what spell she used to prank them? Now that would've been hilarious.

"No, nothing like that," Hope said quickly.

"And do you like him?"

Hope turned pink thinking about how his smile lit up his eyes and how his freckles were like constellations on his cheeks, and how he didn't even think when he offered her a hand when she was struggling on stairs, and how he liked to catch her hand while they walked together and kept it, and how he gaped, flustered, when she kissed his cheek.

"I think I'm starting to," Hope realized, impossibly startled by the notion, then she frowned. "But he's not writing me, same as Ron and Hermione, so I'm not telling him that."

"Cold-shoulder is always a viable tactic," Sylvar smirked.

* * *

Doctor Jeanna Samuel was the best therapist Hope had ever seen, and there had been a few, but Jeanna didn't sit in a corner jotting notes down about her, nodding only when appropriate, she sat beside Hope, not forcing her to talk and perfectly content in the silence.

"The new school's okay, I guess," Hope admitted, streaking paint across the canvas, "I just made some friends that don't send letters…and we had a professor die during term, so that was wild."

Jeanna seemed briefly thrown off by the fact that one of Hope's professors had died, but she decided not to comment on it, focusing on the thing that was bothering her the most.

"They're not sending you any letters?" she prompted and Hope shook her head with a frown. "Well, there can be a lot of reasons for no contact…maybe the letters got lost in the mail—"

 _Unlikely,_ Hope thought, thinking of the owls.

"—or maybe they've been grounded and can't send anything right now."

 _More likely,_ Hope thought, for Ron but not for Hermione. Hope glanced to Jeanna out of the corner of her eye and she gave her a smile. "Let's not worry until there's a reason to worry, all right?"

"All right," Hope said with a sigh.

"How has your leg been doing?" Jeanna probed.

Hope shifted it under the table. "Better than it was last summer…I don't think I'm limping as much as I did before, but I've got good days and bad days."

"Healing is a process, but I'm glad you're seeing more improvement," Jeanna smiled kindly. "Are you having any thoughts like you had in the hospital?"

She meant the reason that Hope was in therapy in the first place. No one could say that she didn't need it, of course, given her home situation, but she still remembered what she'd said to Nath when she'd been in the hospital.

_"I want to die."_

"No," Hope said finally. In truth, she hadn't, but there had been a few moments when she'd wavered, like being in that hospital last year. Hope was certain she'd very nearly had a relapse back to those thoughts, which was why she'd opted to leave a few days ahead of schedule. "Nothing like that."

"Good," Jeanna smiled.

* * *

"Hey there, dearest, you look like you're ready for an adventure."

Hope slid her sunglasses down -a pair that she'd stolen from the man himself- to look through the window of Nath's car. "You know you only like this car because a book character who likes sunglasses as much as you has the same car."

"Don't insult perfection, dearest," Nath patted his dashboard as if to soothe away Hope's words. "You wouldn't know a classy car if it was before your eyes."

Hope rolled her eyes, pulling herself into the 1926 Bentley with so much exasperation, it was a miracle she didn't explode. "You're a dork."

And she just knew he was winking behind those glasses.

"Settle in for a ride, dearest," was all Nath said. "Wales is a bit of a drive. There's sandwiches in the back."

"You're my _favorite_ person," Hope promised, leaning back to grab one of the sandwiches.

"Yes, ranking _very high_ given the number of disappointing adult figures in your life," Nath muttered to himself, making her laugh as they sped off into traffic.

* * *

Hope had fallen asleep at some point and by the time she awoke again, they were nearly there, driving leisurely through a winding road, past thickets of trees and the edge of the sea. She couldn't help but gaze out of the window in awe.

The only place like it she'd ever gone was Hogwarts, with its forest of trees, the deep lakes, the mountains peaking high beyond sight. It had always made it difficult to focus on schoolwork when all she wanted to do was leave, maybe prowl around the Forbidden Forest (though initially frightening, Hope still found it incredibly intriguing), or swim through the Black Lake. Hope was not someone suited for stone walls and rules.

"We're here…you sure there's a house here?" Nath arched an eyebrow over his sunglasses, looking out as the car came to a stop.

But Hope was out of the door, looking around with interest. She couldn't see Potter Manor, not yet, but she knew it was there; she could just _feel_ it.

"Are you coming?" she asked him, half-hoping he'd say no.

"No," he said, surprising her all the same, "this is for you…go explore, I'll still be here when you're done."

Hope beamed impossibly bright and took off, through the thicket of trees, her fingers trailing over bark and branch.

She didn't know if it was magic in the air…but it was something, and she could feel it.

Her feet paused and she closed her eyes, breathing in and just _being_. She could hear the wind whistling through the trees, the sound of water running over rocks…and was there anything more magical?

Hope smiled, opening her eyes once more and continuing on.

It seemed like she'd been walking an age before she found a wrought iron gate, tangled with so many vines it might as well've been part of the wilderness.

She brushed her fingers against it the iron, making it glow faintly at her touch and crack open.

"Wicked," Hope murmured, sliding between the gates to look at the manor beyond. The sunlight shone through the windows and mist clung to the ivy and moss winding delicately around the manor, giving it more character than Hope would have thought possible. It was the kind of house you'd hear strange rumors about, Hope thought.

She pulled a key out of her pocket, striding forward to slide it into place. Ragnok had said it was the right key and he didn't strike her as a liar. She twisted it and it clicked open and Hope pushed her way slowly into Potter Manor.

It was bathed in total blackness, despite the sunlight outside, and while Hope could see fairly well in darkness, even she was blind in total darkness. But luckily, Hope had brought a torch with her.

She clicked it on and stepped into the place where her father grew up.

It was…eerie, there wasn't another word for it. Hope took the stairs carefully until she reached the first landing, full of so many doors down a long corridor. The light from the torch shone down over a polished plaque on one room's door with the name _James_ inscribed into it.

Her father's room. Hope lifted a hand to trace over the letters.

There was a small sign tacked onto the door above the name.

 _Absolutely no one allowed inside!_ It declared cheerfully. _Except Padfoot! Keep out! Pranking Genius within!_

Hope wasn't sure how long she stood there looking at her father's handwriting, so very different from her own, but she steeled her nerves and pushed the door open, aiming her torch.

It was large and spacious, very much the room an heir to an ancient family would possess. Everything was neatly in its place. The closet doors were wide open and missing half of his clothes, like the last time he'd been there he'd been in a rush.

There was a Gryffindor flag mounted on the wall and pictures, so many pictures.

Most of them involved him with an arm thrown over the shoulders of two boys, with another on one side, too far for him to reach. There was one in which he appeared to be swooning dramatically in the arms of one of his friends, and the unenthused expression they had made it perfect.

Then there was one where the four were wearing their graduation robes, probably one of the last images he stuck on the wall, since her parents had gotten married almost immediately after graduating. One boy was laughing and a second's shoulders were shaking while the third kept falling in and out of the picture's edge and her father was bracing his hands on his knees, laughing too hard to remain standing.

But there was one last picture that Hope pried gently off the wall, of her father and her mother, arm in arm, looking so unbelievably happy. She had pictures of them, of course, but it hit her every time.

Hope was nearly twelve. They'd died when they were twenty-one. In nine years, she'd reach their age, in ten, she'd be older than they ever had been in life.

And somewhere deep, deep inside, she ached.

* * *

"Straighten your arm, you'll never shoot straight with an arm like that."

Hope frowned at Nath where he was perched on his car, relaxing the drawstring of the bow he'd brought with him. It was the first thing he'd done when she'd gotten out of the hospital, and he'd always said it was probably not the smartest idea at the time, giving an angry, depressed kid a weapon, but Hope supposed there was nothing quite like venting frustration via shooting an arrow into a target.

She wasn't that good, but it didn't really matter.

"I know how to shoot an arrow," she snapped.

"Yeah?" Nath bared his teeth. _"Prove it."_

Hope huffed in exasperation, but tightened the drawstring and released. "Do you take this bow with you everywhere you go?"

Nath rifled through his jacket pocket for his cigarette and lighter and Hope had given up asking why the smoke was always a rich red. "It stays in the car. Adel was an archer."

Hope paused, looking down at the bow, a simple long bow, nearly as tall as she was, carved with care. Adel was the name of Nath's ex-girlfriend, one who had died in a tragic accident. She gathered that he'd never quite recovered from it. "She was really good?"

"The best," Nath smiled sadly, "but sometimes being the best isn't good enough."

Hope frowned.

"Now, did you find what you were looking for in your father's place?" He took a long drag from the cigarette.

Hope threaded another arrow into the drawstring. "You know how you can tell when you don't fit? Like being uncomfortable under your skin?"

"Yeah," Nath supposed with a shrug.

Hope frowned. "My dad's from this…I don't know, noble and powerful family, and a lot of his clothes -what was left, anyways-, they're really high end and he's got this signet ring and I…" Hope looked down at herself, at a bit of a loss. "I'm just Hope."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Nath assured her. "You don't have to be like your father."

"But I'm not like him _at all!"_ Hope insisted, aggrieved, releasing the arrow to dig in her pocket and show him the frozen image of her parents. " _Look!_ I look nothing like him! No one ever tells me I'm just like him!"

Just Lily, _always_ Lily.

Nath took the picture, considering the olive-skinned man with dark tousled hair and hazel eyes behind glasses. "I don't think that's right," he said kindly. "I think you have his smile."

"What?" Hope took it back quickly. "I do?"

Nath patted the top of her head. "Legacy is planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. I think your parents would've wanted you to be your own person, the wild child you've always been. Don't try to force yourself to fit into a box that's not even your shape."

And Hope's smile was as blinding as James Potter's.

* * *

Hope was used to ignoring her relatives –that's all they seemed to do to each other; Hope ignored them and they ignored Hope–, or at least, to a certain point. Petunia still demanded chores of her daily, and Hope couldn't very well skip out of those, or it would be her head.

But once those were done, Hope was free to do whatever she wanted, well, within reason, Hope supposed. The Dursleys liked it best when she was out of the house and thus out of their hair, as Hope had a bit of an attitude towards them that most people didn't appreciate.

Hope couldn't understand why, but if they had thought she was going to tone down the sass and blatant sarcasm, then they were very much mistaken.

But who didn't like sass and sarcasm?

So, once she was free, she, in spur of sudden boredom, grabbed a cab to the center of London, making for the Leaky Cauldron. She'd been to Diagon Alley a few times that summer but it wasn't like she had much to do, especially since Nath was working and the Feywild Café was closed for the day.

Hope expelled a breath, ruffling her now dark blue tousled curls. It helped a great deal having the ability to change her appearance when she wanted to be incognito.

She pulled open the door and strode inside, easily overlooked by her height and age, passing through the crowd of patrons to reach the rear of the pub, where a door opened to a blank brick wall. The same wall Hagrid had taken Hope through last year when he'd taken her to Diagon Alley for the first time. It seemed so long ago now as Hope limped forward, one hand secure on her cane as she withdrew her wand to tap it against the stone.

When the bricks parted, she was unsurprised to see the street packed with shoppers, but that made it easy to blend in with the crowd.

Getting into Gringotts was more troublesome than she had remembered, though this might've had something to do with her being with Hagrid –who people had often careened out of the way of– so Hope waited patiently in line for the number of witches and wizards to thin out until she could make her way to the podium.

The goblin that looked down at her could have been scowling, but Hope wasn't quite sure, as it was quite difficult to tell with faces like that. Hope grinned up at him, holding up a letter embossed with the Gringotts seal.

"Hello," Hope said in a tone that was very nearly cheerful, "I have a meeting with Ragnok in a few minutes."

Goblins held no titles, therefore it would have been insulting to call them 'Mr.' or 'Lord' or anything similar –or, at least, that was the way they viewed it, as it had been explained to Hope on her first day to Diagon Alley–, and goblins much preferred their given names, as long as they were not spoken with a condescending tongue.

The goblin took the letter from her, unfolding it and reading its contents before glancing her over one last time.

"Wait here," he said gruffly as he hopped down from his podium to move at a leisure pace to find the Head of Gringotts. Hope smirked at the sound of several groans from behind her where the lines continued, well, it couldn't be said that goblins didn't like drawing out the wait-time.

So, Hope waited, smoothing her thumb over her cane where she gripped it until the goblin reappeared once more, motioning for her to follow, which she did so, limping slightly towards the double doors that held within the spacious office of Ragnok.

Unlike his brethren, Ragnok bore the title of 'Master' that befit his position, and he was the only one allowed such a title.

"Miss Potter," he said simply upon her entrance into the office. "How may I be of service?"

"Master Ragnok," Hope said in reply, inclining her head slightly, an action that earned her a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "I have only a few requests of you, actually, and I hope you won't find them too bothersome."

"That would depend on the requests," Ragnok replied, gesturing Hope forward and she took the seat gratefully.

* * *

Not half an hour later Hope left Gringotts with her money bag refilled and a package miniaturized in her pocket containing a few new books from her family vaults and several very valuable gems that had been taken from the Slytherin Family Vault. This vault had lain undisturbed for centuries due to family becoming extinct upon the male line, until Hope had claimed it today.

She didn't know if Voldemort had known about it before, but it didn't matter anymore because the vault and its contents now belonged solely to Hope and to her descendants.

It was the gems in particular that she cared more about, since she really wanted to try her hand at Blood Runes, but she still had to wait until she got home to even try that, so Hope wandered off in the direction of Flourish and Blotts.

There were a few people inside, but not that many, so Hope limped off in towards one of the older sections of the shop, tracing lightly over book spines as she mouthed the titles to herself.

"Looking for something in particular?" a voice asked, startling Hope terribly as she whipped around to look upon who had spoken.

Daphne Greengrass gave her a pearly smile. "Sorry," she apologized in a manner that was a bit unrepentant, reminding Hope of just the last year when it had been she who had startled Daphne.

"Oh, forget it," Hope said, blinking a few times before she stared at the Slytherin. "How'd you know it was me?"

Daphne arched a pale eyebrow towards Hope. "Oh, please, as if it's really that hard," the girl scoffed, "you _are_ the only one our age that walks around with the aid of a cane, you know."

Patches of pink appeared on Hope's cheekbones at her words. "Oh, right," she said, chuckling softly under her breath. "Of course, I am."

"Are you looking for some books on the Ancient Arts?" Daphne asked her, smirking a little.

"I'd have more luck in the library I haul around in my trunk," Hope sighed mournfully. "But I guess that's to be expected."

Daphne hummed in agreement. "Since Ancient and Dark seem to get lumped together."

Hope sighed. "I guess you've got to have something to blame when it can't be a witch or wizard."

Daphne sniggered in a way that was distinctly unlady-like. "No truer words have been spoken…do your little lion friends know about your fascination?"

"I think a few of them can guess," Hope admitted, turning back to the shelf, "either that or they don't really know how frowned upon they are."

"Very few do," Daphne had to agree with her there as Hope withdrew an old text from the shelf. Hope frowned at the cover, blowing the dust from it so she could read it before opening it and flicking through the pages. It held some old remedies and enchantments that dealt with herbs as the basis of magic, for healing and warding were just two examples of its uses.

Hm…that sounded slightly interesting, not as interesting as Blood Magick, obviously, but interesting enough.

"Do they know that you're the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin?"

Hope was so startled that she dropped the book, her heart rate skyrocketing at Daphne's words as her eyes flashed up to meet the blonde's.

"Relax," Daphne said with a careless wave of her hand as Hope glanced around to see if anyone had heard, but, luckily, they were so far into the shop that there was no one else there. "Your secret is safe with me."

Hope knelt to grab the book from the ground before rising to eye the Greengrass heir with suspicion.

"I'm from an old family," Daphne told her, "it's not hard to find the family tree of the Slytherin family…though, it is very extensive."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" Hope asked wryly.

Daphne shrugged. "Just a fact…but it does explain that ring of yours."

Hope's hand tightened into a fist, the snake ring cutting into her hand as she did so.

Daphne grinned in an amused manner. "See you at school." And then she turned on her heel and left Hope to her own thoughts.

* * *

The day Hope turned twelve wasn't a momentous occasion in the slightest, in fact, not one soul in Number Four Privet Drive celebrated it, including Hope. Not celebrating Hope's birthday was nothing new; it hadn't been celebrated in eleven years, so why start now?

None of her friends owled, which Hope was still angry about. So, in the stead of having someone to tell her when something was a bad idea, she tried to carve a Blood Rune into one of her gems only to have it backfire spectacularly in her face, making Hope wonder of the merits of carving them into her skin instead. According to her book that was a more powerful medium anyways, but she wasn't sure she was ready to attempt that yet.

Hope shut her room's door behind her and slouched down the stairs and into the kitchen, exhaling a tired breath. She almost headed right back up the stairs to her room when she heard voices, but then she paused to listen to exactly what Vernon was saying.

"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day," he began and Hope made a face behind his back. "This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," he continued, oblivious of Hope's distaste towards both him and his business dinner. "I think we should run through the schedule one more time." Hope couldn't help but roll her eyes; they had a dinner schedule! Who does that? Who prepares what they're going to talk at during a dinner before the actual dinner? And they thought Hope was the one that was strange in the family; they should have looked in the mirror. "We should all be in position by eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be—?"

"In the lounge," Petunia answered primly, as if that somehow made her more attractive, "waiting to welcome them graciously into our home." She waved her hands around in what she thought was a gracious manner, but Hope thought it was more reminiscent of a sideways windmill.

Hope looked around their ' _home_ ' in disgust. It was _too_ clean, and she hated things that were immaculate and lacking sentiment. Nothing Petunia and her family owned meant anything to the three of them. The Dursleys were a family very ruled by public opinion, something Hope cared little for. That was one of the reasons Hope didn't get on well at all with her family; they were complete opposites. And opposites repelled each other.

They were too _different._

Hope wished for the thousandth time that month that she couldn't have just stayed with Hermione at her place, but _no._.. so here she was, in her personal hell. But then Hope remembered that Hermione wasn't talking to her and that only served to sour her attitude further. Maybe she should run over to Dean's for the day…

"Good, good. And Dudley?" Vernon said, snapping his fingers towards his son.

"I'll be waiting to open the door," Dudley said, his voice –like always– annoying Hope greatly as he used a simpering tone. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll love him!" Petunia cried, her voice lovingly sappy; Hope tried not to gag at Dudley and his mother's reaction to him.

"I certainly wouldn't," Hope muttered under her breath, ignoring the glare the three of them shot her.

"And you?" Vernon demanded coldly, as he often did when speaking to his niece.

Instead, Hope crossed her arms looking distinctly irritated. She wasn't going to stand there and repeat the words he'd told her several days previously, and those words were: "I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there."

Pretending she didn't exist was more like it, if you asked Hope. As if she didn't do that enough already.

"We all know what we're supposed to do," she said in disdain. "What's the point of going over all this?"

"Hope Lillian Potter! You listen to your uncle!" Petunia barked, and Hope could feel the defiance spilling over inside of her at the use of 'Lillian' instead of 'Lily' as her middle name, as if her aunt couldn't bear to even say her dead sister's name. Hope didn't even try to stop the sneer from forming on her lips.

"It's Hope Lily Potter, Petunia," she said frigidly, "twelve years and you still haven't figured that out?" And then she stormed violently towards the stairs, stomping up them with more force than was strictly necessary.

"There goes your dinner privileges!" Vernon roared after her.

"Good!" she yelled back, slamming one of her feet down aggressively for emphasis. "They weren't much to begin with!"

Hope was used to not eating to the point of worrying Ron and Hermione last year because she had a tendency to faint without eating for awhile, but Hope was so annoyed -about her birthday, about her name, about her friends- that she didn't even care.

She slammed the door to her bedroom shut so hard that it rattled the hinges and then she sat down hard on the bed, dropping her cane to the floor and exhaling as she looked around the room.

Her room was so bare. All the items that she cared about were locked away in her trunk which was locked in the cupboard under the stairs, her former living space, and Hope wasn't about to try to Flash the trunk up to her bedroom and back down to the cupboard every night, that would just be exhausting, besides, Flashing too much wouldn't be very good for her health.

She twisted the rings around on her fingers as she flopped onto her back, staring bleakly up at the ceiling and wishing that the summer holiday would be over sooner rather than later.

Hope still held onto that long-lost dream that one day a distant relation would come and rescue her from them this hellhole that only three could call home, just as long as they weren't Salazar Slytherin himself. She rubbed her head tiredly. She hadn't even dared to tell her friends when she'd found out about that, much like how she couldn't tell them about how on-point her ability to predict death was.

Not that it mattered anyways, seeing as none of them were willing to write to her. Hope withdrew her lock picks and fiddled with Hedwig's padlock until the bird door swung free and sighed mournfully as her beloved owl hooted softly, fluttering over to perch on her knee, permitting her mistress to stroke her feathers. Hope could let her out of her cage in her room, if she made sure no one was around to see her, and then she'd let her out for two hours at night when no one was awake, giving her some time to stretch her wings. She knew Hedwig wasn't pleased with the situation, but it could've been worse; she could have been padlocked inside that cage for the whole summer.

"I miss freedom, Hedwig," Hope said sullenly, "I wonder what it tastes like?"

Hedwig gave a sad, low hoot of agreement as Hope stroked her feathers gently and Hedwig nipped lightly at her fingers.

The first few days of summer had been fun, when Hope could stalk Dudley mercilessly, chanting nonsense words that made him grab his buttock and run for his Mummy, but it lost its appeal after Hope had to duck a swipe to the head with a frying pan. Now Hope was unbelievably lonely. Nath and Sylvar just weren't the same as her friends.

She missed Ron and Hermione, and Fred and George, and Lee and Angelina and Alicia, and Katie, and even the Quidditch-obsessed Oliver... she was beginning to get desperate.

But, right now, she was too tired to even think about how miserable she was, having slept terribly the night before, the Blood-Soaked Tree plaguing her nightmares once more.

Hope scrubbed vigorously at her eyes before returning Hedwig to clutch her talons to the top of her cage as Hope fell back onto her bed, falling into a light doze, only to be awakened rather suddenly when the doorbell rang and Vernon's face appeared, cracking open her door slightly to glower at her, and thus missing the owl snoozing on top of her cage. "One word, girl, and I swear—" he hissed through the crack.

"Yeah, yeah," Hope waved a hand carelessly, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Whatever."

His face purpled, but he didn't seem capable of coming up with words, so he simply pulled the door shut as Hope sat up, groaning softly, rubbing at her eyes, as she searched under her bed for the owl treats that she had swiped a few nights ago. Hope muttered a soft swear under her breath as she finally pulled it free, and uttered a muffled complaint.

"Sorry, Hedwig," she told the owl, "it looks like we're almost out of owl treats…you'll only get half of treat if you want them to last."

Hedwig opened her eyes to give Hope a rather distinctly annoyed expression.

"Don't give me that look," Hope said shortly, breaking a treat in half and giving it to her owl. "It's not my fault that we're nearly out."

Hedwig gave her another look that clearly said that it was indeed Hope's fault that they were nearly out of her treats, it wasn't like Hedwig could by the treats, after all.

And then Hope's eyes flashed completely open, because she was not alone with Hedwig in her room, there was someone else there.

Even though she couldn't use it, Hope's holly and phoenix feather wand was in her hand in seconds. She didn't know why, but she always found its warm wood comforting, almost feeling as though it beat, like a heart, against her palm.

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She didn't even know what exactly it was.

It wasn't even close to being human and probably only went up to her knee. Its bat-like ears flapped in the air and it had green eyes seemed almost too big for its head, with limbs painfully clear to see from its sharp elbows to its knobby knees. She would have thought it was wearing a miniature toga, if she hadn't thought it looked more like a ruined pillowcase.

"Hope Potter!" the creature squeaked in a high-pitched voice that made Hope wince and glance nervously towards the door, in case Vernon came up to complain of the noise, which was very likely, given Hope's track record. "So long had Dobby wanted to meet you, miss…Such an honor it is!"

"Right, sure," Hope said exhaustively, lowering her wand after a moment of deliberating. "So, your name is Dobby, then?" It sounded a little like a name, she supposed, in a weird way.

The thing –creature, whatever it was– nodded so fast that its ears flapped against its head from the movement. "Dobby the House-elf," it told her.

"Dobby the House-elf," she repeated faintly, blinking her eyes a few times, "right, of course. So, why are you exactly in my room?"

"Dobby has come to tell you, miss…it is difficult, miss…" Dobby seemed a bit nervous about whatever he had come to tell her –Hope felt she should have been the one more nervous, since he was the one in her room. "Dobby wonders where to begin…"

Suddenly Dobby grabbed her cane –which had been propped against the wall by the window– and began whacking himself in the head with its grip. Hope went past stunned to completely startled, but only for about two seconds, and then Hope had to wrestle the cane from his grasp, hissing, _"What the ruddy hell do you think you're doing?!"_

"Dobby should not speak or move against his family," the house-elf whimpered.

"There are more of you?" Hope asked dumbstruck.

"Oh, there are many house-elves," Dobby agreed, "but Dobby was referring to the wizard family Dobby serves-"

"You're a servant?" Hope asked in a horrified voice. She had never heard of servants in the Wizarding world, and she certainly had never expected them to look like this.

Dobby smiled weakly. "Yes, miss."

"Do they make you beat yourself up like that?" Hope demanded, disgusted, gesturing towards the bruises forming on his flesh.

"Sometimes they remind Dobby to do extra punishments," Dobby said sadly, his ears drooping slightly.

"That's barbaric!" Hope said, aghast. "Why don't you just leave?"

"A house-elf must be set free, miss," he told her simply. "And the family will never set Dobby free…Dobby will serve the family until he dies, miss."

"That's awful," Hope said in genuine revulsion. She had never heard of something so…sixteenth century. The idea of being with the same family, especially if it wasn't a good family, made Hope glad she was at least human.

"Tis the life of a house-elf," Dobby said gloomily, before brightening unexpectedly, "Dobby has long heard of Hope Potter's triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

"I was one year old!" Hope complained, keeping her voice low enough that it wouldn't be heard downstairs.

"Dobby has also heard," the house-elf continued, "that Hope Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago, and that Hope Potter escaped _yet again_!"

"I suppose that counts as an escape," Hope grumbled under her breath, smoothing a finger over her eyebrow as she remembered the events of the end of the previous year. They were rather vivid.

She should have just kept her mouth shut, because Dobby's face shone with joy.

"Hope Potter is valiant and bold! She has braved many dangers already. But Dobby has come to protect Hope Potter, to warn her, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later… _Hope Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!"_

One could have heard a pin drop with how quiet it had become as Hope stared at the house-elf in blatant surprise at the words he had just said.

"Excuse me?" she balked. "Not go back to Hogwarts? Are you _mad_? Hogwarts is my home! I don't belong anywhere but in the magical world!"

"No, no, no," Dobby was shaking his head frantically, trying to reason with her, "If Hope Potter goes back to Hogwarts, she will be in mortal danger!"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her eyes sparking an impossible blue.

"There is a plot, Hope Potter," Dobby whispered, looking about as if expecting to see ears listening in on their conversation. "A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year." He had begun to tremble something fierce. "Dobby has known it for months now, miss. Hope Potter must not put herself in danger, she is too important!"

"I'm not, trust me," Hope said dryly, aggravation seeping into her voice, "but what plot? Wait, don't answer that, you'll probably just give yourself a concussion."

"Does this have anything to do with Vol- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" she prompted instead.

The house-elf slowly shook his head and Hope sighed. "I'm not sure if that's good or bad. It doesn't matter either way, Dobby, because I'm going back, whether there's danger or not, I've got friends out there-"

"Friends who don't even write to Hope Potter?" Dobby asked, instantly making Hope simultaneously angry and suspicious.

" _How_ ," she said lowly, cold and dangerous, "did you know that they haven't been writing to me?" The shadows in the room seemed to almost flicker with her anger.

"Dobby did it for the best—" the house-elf stuttered out.

" _Have you been stopping my letters?!_ " she growled, her eyes shifting to an enraged black that now matched the color of her hair.

He was holding a thick pile of envelopes, and that made her even angrier. She could see George's untidy scrawl, Hermione's carefully etched words, and Ron's nearly illegible script. And in the face of her anger, Dobby knew that he was treading on thin ice.

"Hope Potter will have them, miss, if she promises that she will not return to Hogwarts!"

" _Give me those letters_!" she demanded, lunging for him, but the elf was fast, quicker than she would have thought, and had darted through the door and down the stairs in the time it took her to turn on her heel and head in the same direction.

Her heart hammered. _Oh no…_

It was a mountainous pudding complete with sugared violets and cream, and it was floating in the air.

" _Stop_!" she hissed. "They'll _murder_ me!"

"Hope Potter must say—"

"Dobby," Hope said in a voice that was deadly calm, "please…"

"Say—"

"I can't!"

"Then Dobby is sorry."

And the pudding fell with a crash, completely caking Hope in cream.

Hope had never felt so miserable that she was going to be punished for something that wasn't her fault and she hadn't even gotten her letters back in exchange for the injustice.

* * *

Hope's face still ached from the smack Vernon had given her and she didn't have any ice to soften the swelling and Hope was completely and utterly miserable.

After that incident with the pudding, then the owl that arrived from the ministry claiming that a Hover Charm was used, despite it not actually being her, Hope was in more trouble than ever. She was then locked in her room almost around the clock with only two opportunities to use the bathroom, absolutely no food, and, to make matters worse, bars had been fitted onto her window so Hedwig could no longer take her nightly flights, leaving her disgruntled.

She couldn't even bring herself to call Nath to beg him to call someone and tell them that she was being starved and hit, but every time he'd tried, the report seemed to disappear into nothing, so why even bother. She was stuck and she didn't know how to get out to call for help.

Even if she flashed out, she'd be leaving all her things behind, besides, there was nowhere to go.

A light shone across her bedroom floor.

She frowned, blinking harshly as she saw a pair of headlights coming over the row of houses to hover beside her bedroom window. She scrambled to the window, throwing it open to clutch at the bars, recognizing the person in the back seat. A blue-eyed, ginger-haired, freckled somebody.

" _Ron_!"

"Hope!" her best friend grinned and then he gaped. "What's happened to you?"

Hope burst into tears, silent hiccupping tears, scrubbing at her face on the side that remained unbruised. "What're you doing here?" she managed to force out, amidst hiccups, barely noticing Fred and George in the front of what was evidently a floating car.

"Figured you were in trouble or something when you didn't answer any of our letters," Ron said gesturing between him and the twins, thrown off by a distraught version of his friend. "Don't worry, we've come to get you out." He held out a thick rope to her. "Wrap that tight, would you?"

Hope gave a quiet moan. "I'm dead if—"

"Hope," Fred said from behind the wheel, serious and gentle, which was rather unlike him, "don't worry."

George hadn't said a single word, too appalled by the bruising, harsh in the darkness.

Hope's fingers shook, even as she tied the rope tight, stepping back as he revved the car in the opposite direction, ripping the bars clean off, and dropping them right into Petunia's bed of flowers below.

"Get in," Ron said, holding out a hand when the car came close to her window again.

"But, all my things," Hope said, glancing nervously back as she handed Hedwig through the window.

"Where are they?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs—"

"No problem," George assured her from the passenger seat. "We'll handle it."

Hope moved back as the Weasley Twins crawled from their window through hers and George gave her fingers a quick squeeze while Fred pulled out a hairpin and pick the lock. It wasn't as sophisticated as Hope's lock-picking, but it would have to do.

"You taking anything else in this room?" Ron asked tersely and Hope looked down at herself. He turned around politely as she changed back into her clothes, stuffing the mobile in her pocket, and grabbing her lockpicks from the desk. Everything else was in her trunk.

Hope glanced about sullenly. "Just this."

Ron's eyes passed over her. "You look terrible." Her hair was a midnight black and limp, not at all like the full locks that he was used to seeing and the redness around her eyes made her green eyes more obvious. And the bruising around her right eye was quite substantial. "That shiner is pretty big."

Hope's fingers brushed against her bruised skin and she winced. "I've had worse." A few bruises were nothing, it wasn't like when Petunia tripped her when she was seven and she'd broken her leg tumbling down the stairs, or Dudley using her as a punching bag, or even when he'd pushed her in front of that car. She sniffed, rubbing at her nose.

Ron frowned deeply, but he didn't have the chance to say anything about it, because Fred and George carefully maneuvered into the room with her trunk, opening it briefly to stuff her pajamas back in before placing it in the boot of the car.

"Alrighty…" the twins climbed back into their seats, steadying the car as Ron held out his hand to his friend after she'd handed her cane through the window, accidentally knocking Hedwig's cage the ground, earning a loud squawk of indignation.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

The locks undid faster than Hope had time to get out of the window, so Ron had to pull her bodily through the window at the second Vernon had grabbed her ankle.

"Let me go!" Hope yelled, kicking him in the face with her shoe.

"Step on it, Fred!" Ron yelled, keeping a firm grip on Hope's waist as her leg was finally pulled free and Vernon tumbled out of the window to land heavily on the ground.

Hope made a rude hand gesture out the window as they sped off into the night, and it was only when Privet Drive was completely out of view that Hope buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

"Hey, its okay," Ron said, patting her shoulder awkwardly, not really knowing what to do.

"I've just been—" Hope cut herself off, holding back another wave of tears. "I'm sorry for being—" A mess, a hassle, a blubbering—

"Hey," George turned around to give her a look. "It's okay. Really. We're not gonna think any less of you for getting upset…did that uncle of yours give you that bruise?"

"Not uncle," Hope and Ron corrected as one, as Hope had never called him uncle in her entire life. The phone in her pocket gave a sharp buzz. "Hang on…Nath?"

The three brothers politely pretended to not be listening as she held the phone to her ear.

 _"You realize I haven't heard from you in three days_ ," came his dry voice on the other end.

Hope rubbed at her eyes, looking at the clock on the dashboard. "And you realize that its three in the morning right now."

 _"Late shift,"_ Nath replied, unconcerned, _"tell me what's wrong. I can hear it in your voice."_

Hope bit her lip, running a hand through her hair. "I've been locked in my room for three days, Nath…I don't think I moved hardly at all that entire time…I've been…everything's such a _mess_ , I'm sorry, I'm _really_ sorry, its just very time I tell you when they do something it gets buried and I'm just so _miserable,_ Nath." Her voice broke and in the front seat Fred and George shared a dark look while Ron scowled out the window.

 _"That man,"_ Nath muttered furiously on the other end. _"Abusing someone for having magic should be illegal, I don't know why it isn't."_

Hope was so surprised that she dropped her mobile and had to scramble to pick it up again. "Magic?" she squeaked. "You-you _knew?_ The whole time?"

 _"Well, not the whole time,"_ Nath conceded. _"But you are rather transparent—"_

"I am _not_ transparent!" Hope fired back sourly.

George's mouth twitched in the front.

"Are you magic or—"

 _"No, not me,"_ Nath's voice grew pained and Hope heaved a sigh.

"Adel was," she realized.

He cleared his throat on the other end. _"What happened?"_

Hope swallowed thickly. "Some house-elf was nicking my letters, saying something about keeping me from going back to school, it dropped some pudding on Vernon and Petunia's guests and the Ministry's blaming me for it and Vernon was really pissed and he punched me and then locked me in my room, put bars on my window, but its fine, I'm out—"

 _"Nothing's fine,"_ Nath replied stoutly, " _but I'll handle the Ministry…are you still there?"_

"No, the Weasleys broke me out," Hope looked out the window. "Nath, they've got a _flying car."_

There were a few snorts at that.

_"Dearest, switch me to speaker, would you?"_

Hope complied.

"Who's flying the car?" Nath's voice echoed loudly and all three boys jumped; muggle technology was still strange to them.

"Fred is," Hope said.

_"And where is Fred driving you?"_

"Uh, the Burrow, our place in Ottery St. Catchpole," Fred said loudly from the front.

Nath hummed. _"I pray you're a good driver."_

Hope snorted. "Not much to run into up here, except maybe birds."

There was a long-stilted silence. _"All right, you boys look after my girl, or I will be most displeased."_ It was an ominous sort of threat, but his voice lightened. _"Call me, dearest, for anything."_

"I will, I promise," Hope said, ending the call and stuffing it back into her pocket.

"So, a house-elf was nicking your mail?" Ron asked finally.

Hope shrugged helplessly. "I spent the whole summer thinking you lot had forgotten about me."

"What?"

"That's _ridiculous!"_

"Come off it!"

She was startled and pleased by their vehemence. "Well, he said there's something happening at Hogwarts this term, like dealing with the Dursleys is better than dealing with something bad at Hogwarts." Hope was regaining a bit of her spark the longer she was with them.

"Very fishy," Fred said after a pregnant pause.

"Definitely dodgy," George agreed, swiveling in his seat so that he could look her in the eye, pleased to note that the black hair had faded to a light brown. "And he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be behind it?"

Hope screwed up her face, wincing slightly, trying to recall all that the house-elf had said. "No, he just said that it wasn't Voldemort—"

Ron gave a small whimper at the name, but Fred and George were largely unfazed.

"Oh, calm down, Ron! It's just a _name_ for Hades' sake!" She turned back to George before Ron could come up with a response. "Do you think he was lying, then?"

"Could be," Fred answered her instead, "I mean, house-elves are pretty powerful by themselves, but they usually can't use their magic without their master's permission. Maybe sending him out to you was someone's idea of joke."

"I could only think of one person arrogant enough," Hope said in annoyance, sharing a glance with Ron as they both said, "Draco Malfoy."

"Wasn't that the kid you were always complaining about?" George asked her, frowning slightly. "The one that kept trying to get you in trouble?"

"The very same," Hope agreed, leaning back in her seat tiredly.

"He isn't Lucius Malfoy's son, is he?" Fred asked, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to look at her.

"Could be, why?"

"Dad talks about him –hates him really– he was a big supporter of You-Know-Who," George told her.

At this, Fred turned around to look at her and Hope was impressed that the car didn't swerve at all, making her wonder how much he'd actually driven it to be that skilled, "And when You-Know-Who disappeared Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never meant any of it—"

"If that isn't a load of dung, I don't know what is," Hope drawled out.

Fred grinned. "That's what Dad says, too."

Hope looked out the window, watching Hedwig soaring beside the car, evidently let out by Ron while she'd been on the phone with Nath. "So, is the car your dad's, then?"

"Yup!" Ron responded cheerfully. "He has a bad habit of buying up muggle items, taking them apart and enchanting them, and then putting it back together."

"But wouldn't that damage the muggle stuff?" Hope asked confused. "Isn't that why muggle stuff goes haywire around magic?" (Completely forgetting that she'd been using a mobile in Hogwarts for a year with little issue.)

Ron grinned. "You'll have to take that up with Dad; he'll be thrilled."

"That'll be fun," Hope muttered.

"Anyways," Ron said, squeezing her hand briefly, "I'm glad we came to get you. I thought it might have been Errol's fault—"

"Who's Errol?" Hope asked blankly.

"Our owl," Ron said morosely, "he's positively ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he's collapsed on a delivery."

Hope winced. "That's not good."

"Nope."

"Does your dad know you've got the car?" Hope asked, poking her head out of the window to look down, a smile spreading across her lips as she looked down at the world so far below.

"Er, no, not really," Ron said nervously, "he had to work tonight."

Hope appraised him with a faint grin. " _Oh_ , my bad habits are rubbing off on you, Ronald."

He grinned. "Shut up, you." The grin slipped. "How's your face?"

"Aching," Hope said. "But it'll be fine, it's not like my leg." All three boys shared dubious looks that she pretended not to see.

The sun was beginning to peak over the trees, suddenly dawning on Hope that they'd been driving through the night. Fred dropped the car lower and lower, driving overhead the road, landing with a slight jolt, coming to a stop on the lawn before what must have been Ron's home, the Burrow.

It was as far from Vernon and Petunia's house as one house could get. Disorder and mayhem, just the way Hope liked it. The structure of the house was far from straight, crooked to the point that it just had to be held up by magic, with six chimneys perched on its warped roof.

A far cry from what Potter Manor had looked like, but that was what Hope liked about it immediately; how rough and misshapen it was, everything out of place. She'd never seen a house like that before.

She stumbled a little to get out of the car, still looking around with wonder.

"Okay," said Fred, "here's the plan—"

However, Hope never quite learned what exactly the plan was, because Fred stopped dead in his tracks and Ron had turned a sickly green color. Hope peeked around George in the direction the three Weasley brothers were gazing in horror.

It was Mrs. Weasley, and she looked furious.

Hope was already feeling quite light-headed and Mrs. Weasley was looking a lot like Vernon when he was going to hit her. She held tight to the back of George's shirt, and he reached a hand back, allowing her to squeeze it tightly.

" _Ah_ ," Fred said weakly.

"Oh, dear," George choked out.

"So," Mrs. Weasley said, low and dangerous.

"Morning Mum," George said, in what he clearly thought was an innocent tone of voice, and Hope was starting to feel sick to her stomach.

The explosion that followed was one that had Hope jumping terribly and she really needed to sit down—

"Oh, Hope dear—" Mrs. Weasley had stepped around George to see why her sons had been out into the early morning, only to start in surprise when the girl crumpled into a faint.

"What—?" George twisted around quickly when Ron, recognizing the signs, had seen fit to hook her under the arms to keep her from colliding painfully against the gravel.

"She does that sometimes," Ron sighed. "When she forgets to eat for a long time, and she said she was locked up in that room for three days…"

Fred muttered something unsavory under his breath, which his mother whipped out her wand to clear up the blossoming bruise on her face. She made a clucking sound with her tongue. "Well, best get her inside either way, George, would you—"

George lifted Hope was ease, more startled about how light she was, lighter even than Ginny, which was always a bit concerning.

But at least she was away from the muggles, he couldn't help but reason.

* * *

Hope, Mrs. Weasley learned, was a very uneasy twelve-year-old witch, and seemed to regard an adult with a general suspicion. When she awoke a few moments later, she'd uncomfortably touched at the side of her face where the bruise had been, not very pleased at it being gone, which Mrs. Weasley couldn't understand because surely it being gone was better than it being present? Mrs. Weasley sent her up for a phenomenally short shower before she was back with the boys, looking tired and pale beside Ron, but smiling all the same, eating little by little.

"Oh, I threw myself at you?" Hope asked incredulously, lifting her gaze from her sausages to stare disbelieving at George. "If I recall correctly –and I do–, it was dark and I tripped…you ate mud, _remember_?"

Ron roared with laughter, but George just waved his hand carelessly. "Details, Hope, details."

" _Right_ ," she drawled out.

"And you want to know what else, Hope?" Fred asked with a bright grin, making his eyes twinkle like sapphires. "He nearly fainted when you kissed his cheek after he caught you in that first match!"

"I did not!" George turned red, looking at his twin in betrayal, like he hadn't almost fallen over when Oliver had clapped him on the shoulder for a job well done.

Hope couldn't help but laugh with Ron while George attempted to get Fred in a headlock, only to be interrupted by a small squeal echoing in the kitchen and a pair of light footsteps abruptly heading up the stairs once more.

"What was that?" Hope asked blankly.

"Ginny," Ron whispered, so his mother wouldn't hear, "my sister. She's been talking about you all summer."

"Oh…" Whatever Hope was planning to say was cut off by the sound of the door opening.

"Morning Weasleys!" called a male voice and she looked up. Mr. Weasley had red hair like his wife and all of his children, but his was sparse, his head balding, and an askew pair of glasses was perched on the bridge of his nose, through which Hope could see eyes the same rich blue that the twins and Ron shared.

"Morning Dad!"

Hope was waiting for him to notice her, which he didn't until he was halfway through his breakfast. "Oh! Hello!"

She smiled slightly. "Hello, Mr. Weasley, I'm Hope."

"Ah!" The man smiled congenially. "Yes, Ron's told us so much about you, so have Fred and George."

Hope eyed them all speculatively. "I hope nothing too terrible…"

Fred and George gave her mock salutes before everyone jumped at the sound of something running headlong into the window.

"Oh, dear…"

Mrs. Weasley rushed over to the windowsill as the owl righted itself and fluttered inside with a mournful hoot.

"I'm going to guess that's Errol?" Hope asked in bemusement, directing her question to Ron.

"Yup." He swallowed some eggs thickly. "And you wonder why we thought it was all his fault you weren't answering our letters."

Hope grunted in agreement as Mrs. Weasley handed them all their Hogwarts letters.

"Even me?" Hope asked in surprise.

"Even you, dear," she smiled kindly, "and it looks like you've got one more, a letter from the Improper Use of Magic Office."

"Again?" Hope complained, taking it all the same, ripping it open to read the contents within with a scowl.

"Are they getting on you again?" Fred asked with a frown.

"No," Hope said, deeply surprised, "they've recanted…something about magic in the area being attributed to me rather than who actually cast the spell…its been removed from my record, apparently." She didn't know what exactly Nath had done, but she very much doubted it was legal.

She shook her head fondly, turning her attention instead to her list of books for the term. Most of them were what you would expect for someone who was going into their second year at Hogwarts, but—

"Do we have seven books for Defense Against the Dark Arts?" she asked Ron incredulously. "What's the point of that?"

"Must be a fan of Lockhart's," Fred said around a mouthful of toast, earning a glare from his mother. "Probably a witch." George choked on his drink.

"But seven?" Hope demanded. "That's just overkill!"

Fred shrugged. "That's Hogwarts for you."

She snorted humorlessly.

* * *

And when Hope went to bed later that night, she found a small box tucked into her trunk with her name scrawled across it in Nath's hand, a pair of earrings within, red and shaped like teardrops. that glittered even in the darkness. Hope wondered how he'd even managed to get the present to her in the first place, but she still smiled to herself as she secured them in her ears, not caring if they clashed with her hair.

* * *

Trying to talk to Ginny was like pulling teeth, really, and Hope was very close to just grabbing the girl and rattling her senseless. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with her, not at all, well, other than how unbelievably painfully shy she was. The problem was that she couldn't seem to stand being in the same room as Hope for long, which made sleeping in the same room a bit awkward.

It was easy to forget about Ginny when she made herself practically nonexistent during the day and when Hope was usually off doing other things with her brothers.

"I feel kind of bad," she admitted to Mrs. Weasley as she helped her with dinner one night, quartering potatoes. She wasn't really appreciating being forced to help out with dinner because she was the only other girl in the house apart from Ginny, while the boys got to run around, but she wasn't about to say that to Mrs. Weasley. "I mean, we share a room, and it's her room and all I do is go off with her brothers."

Mrs. Weasley smiled in understanding as she sliced the fat from the meat they were going to cook for dinner. "She's not usually like this, dear, she's just… _star struck."_

"Star struck?" Hope asked with a furrowed eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"How do you think every Wizarding child knows the name 'Hope Potter'?" Mrs. Weasley asked rhetorically. "Hearing stories about how you vanquished You-Know-Who when you were a baby…it's just hard to equate that into someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Hope asked, quirking an eyebrow, not really liking how she'd said it. "You make it out like I'm something _bad."_

"Oh, not at all," Mrs. Weasley assured her. "You're just…very normal."

Hope frowned.

"What I mean," she tried to explain, "is that she is more used to you as an icon, not as a person. I don't think it's really dawned on her that you are just like other witches, just like her."

"That's…" Hope struggled to find an appropriate word for the situation, before settling on, " _odd."_

"Perhaps," Mrs. Weasley hummed in agreement, taking the bowl of cut potatoes from her companion, "but it is the life we live."

"It's a very judgmental life," Hope said with a sigh as she pulled the meat towards her, cutting very harsh slices as a way to vent her feelings.

"Call the boys in, would you?" she requested as she carried the food to the table. "They're probably—"

"OI!" came the roar from the door. "DINNER'S READY, YOU TOSSPOTS!"

Mrs. Weasley blinked and stared at Hope as if she had never quite seen her properly.

"They're coming," Hope said, a bit pointlessly, Mrs. Weasley thought, as probably everyone in a ten-mile radius heard her voice. That girl had a pair of lungs on her!

"You're still calling us that?" a voice complained over her shoulder and the girl turned to be faced with a very sweaty George Weasley. Her tongue froze for a moment, before it started working again.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's quite the loveliest name to refer to you all by, don't you think?" Hope prompted.

"No," said three voices, making her pout.

"You lot ruin all my fun!" She complained, marching away with her nose in the air, ignoring their snorts of amusement.

This was turning into a very fun summer.

* * *

In retrospect, Hope would have preferred flashing to any other form of teleportation or a variation of it. But then, hardly anyone even knew what flashing was, let alone enough for her to use it. And it is because of that mistrust that Hope got into her first predicament (or misadventure, depending on which Weasley sibling you talked to) of that summer. She should have just stuck to flashing; it would have saved her a lot of trouble.

What was the cause of this incident, one might wonder?

A flower pot.

That's right, a simple _flower pot_ , but this flower pot resided in a wizard's home, so it wasn't just _any_ flower pot. It was a flower pot filled with Floo powder.

And it was being held out to Hope who looked completely bemused, staring at it with varying degrees of skepticism. It looked _relatively_ harmless…just a simple faded orange pot with gray powder inside it, though one had to wonder _why_ someone else would put powder of all things in a flower pot.

"Er…what is that, and what am I supposed to be doing with it?" she asked, stabbing a cautious finger at it.

"Oh, yeah!" Ron almost kicked himself for forgetting. "Hope's never travelled by Floo powder. Sorry, mate."

"And what exactly is Floo powder?" Hope asked, honestly befuddled, her suspicious eyes locked on the pot as if waiting for it to spring legs and do a dance. _That_ would be impressive. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not remotely," Mrs. Weasley said, glaring at Fred and George who were nodding feverishly with devilish grins on their faces. "But how did get to Diagon Alley last year to buy all your things?"

"Oh, Hagrid took me on the Underground and then I took a ca—" Hope started to say, but she was interrupted by Mr. Weasley.

"Really?" He said, his voice and face tinged with excitement. "Were there _escapators_? How exactly—"

"Not _now_ , Arthur," Mrs. Weasley cut across her husband using the same tone she used to admonish her children. "Floo powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before—"

"She'll be fine, Mum," Fred disagreed. "Hope, watch us first."

And so, Hope did, watching carefully as Fred scooped up a bit of powder, tossing it into the fireplace, making the flames turn a bright acid green that rose to the top of the fireplace. Fred stepped right into the fames, and he didn't seem to be burned at all! How very strange…upon the shout of "Diagon Alley!" he promptly vanished!

Hope goggled even as George did the same. "What _the—?"_

"Cool, huh?" Ron asked with a grin, bumping his shoulder with hers.

She gaped at the grate empty grate. "But flashing's still better."

"You would say that," Ron complained. "You _always_ say that!"

"You can go after Arthur," Mrs. Weasley was saying as her husband disappeared into flame. "Now when you get in the fire, say where you're going."

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron added as she took a pinch of powder.

"And your eyes shut," Mrs. Weasley said, "the soot—"

"Don't fidget. Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace—"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George."

The advice the two of them were giving her was echoing loudly in her ears giving her the distinct feeling that she was lightheaded. She was beginning to feel very overwhelmed. She dropped the powder into the grate and winced as the rose and burned emerald. Stepping into the fire was much like one would expect; it was hot. The smoke was making her eyes water as she opened her mouth, choking on ash particles as she did so.

"D-Dia-gon Alley!" she choked out as she was sucked through the fireplace, not unlike the way a toilet was flushed. She was spinning, spinning faster than she would have liked. It was quite an uncomfortable experience that Hope wasn't planning on repeating anytime soon. And then she was propelled forward and out of the fireplace, landing in a heap on someone's floor.

She sat up feeling stiff and bruised, blinking several times to clear her vision. The first thing she noticed was that she had no idea where she was, and the second thing she noticed was the shop was very… _dark._ She stood, glancing around for any sign of the owner. She could either hide, or she could explain her situation to him. She really wanted to go with hide.

There was a withered hand on a cushion with a card proclaiming _'Hand of Glory- Gives Light to Only the Beholder'_ , and beside it was a pack bloodstained cards that seemed to be a likely murder weapon in a homicide and a glass eye that seemed to stare straight at her, unnerving her. That was by no means the mildest of the objects, because Hope could see an assortment of rusty weapons hanging from the ceiling, as well as a number of human bones on the counter and a lot of creepy masks on the wall.

The place gave her a made feeling, but she had to move fast as the front door opened and Hope hid inside the nearest available hiding place, a closet.

She had never met Draco Malfoy's father, but now she could see Malfoy bore a remarkable resemblance to him, in fact, he looked as much like a carbon copy of his father as Hope was of her mother.

Hope glanced between the crack in the door to watch with open curiosity, smirking at how Malfoy was complaining like a child, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," the man who must have been Lucius Malfoy as he awaited the man who owned the shop.

"What's the good of that if I don't make the house team?" Hope had never seen Malfoy act so… _childish._ "Hope Potter got a Nimbus Two-Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so she could play for Gryffindor. She's not even that good, it's just because she's _famous_ …famous for having a stupid scar on her forehead…"

Hope glared at him from her hiding place, feeling a spike of anger, as she always did when dealing with Malfoy.

"…everyone thinks she's so smart, wonderful _Potter_ with her _scar_ and her _broomstick—"_

Hope stuck out her tongue at that comment, almost wishing that her enemy could see her doing it. Clearly, this wasn't the first time that Lucius Malfoy had heard the spiel, if his unimpressed response was anything to go by. But she was far more interested in the father than the son, particularly of what he was speaking of. Apparently, Malfoy Senior had some unsavory items locked away in his manor, which, somehow, didn't surprise Hope in the slightest.

It took a very long time for the Malfoys to leave, at least, long in Hope's mind. Draco came very close to discovering her, but he was called away before Hope could come up with a proper disguise.

It was only when Mr. Borgin, the man who owned the _lovely_ little shop went into the back room that Hope left the safety of her cabinet.

The street beyond the store was darker, much darker than Diagon Alley. It seemed almost as though shadows themselves lived there -which, as a general rule, didn't bother Hope that much, but not this time-, where it seemed only Dark Arts existed in this section of street. A glance at a moldy wooden sign told her that it was called 'Knockturn Alley', which seemed like a very suitable name. The sheer accumulation of bones was astonishing, making Hope's skin _crawl_ , and Hope had read up on Ancient Magicks.

Hope turned up her hood, so she wouldn't be recognized by any of the strange characters that meandered through the street looking for this or that. Hope could see a number of what looked like voodoo dolls, as well as a few jars of what looked like human blood. As she passed through the street she saw a number of poisoned candles and gigantic caged spiders at least the spread of two palms width.

She was feeling a bit more overwhelmed when she finally saw someone she recognized.

_"Hagrid!"_

Hope tried her hardest not to look too relieved to see the giant-sized man, but that was hard to do when you went one grate too far in the Floo Network. Hope threw back her hood as he looked in the direction that she had spoken from, running and throwing her arms around him, cane and all.

"Hope!" Hagrid grunted in surprise, lifting her by the scruff of her neck so that she was standing properly, making the back of her neck hurt a little at the grip. "What're yeh doing down here?"

"There was an accident, Floo powder," Hope said regretfully. "I got a bit lost."

"Well, come on, then," the Gamekeeper said, "Knockturn Alley's no place for Hogwarts students."

"Sorry!" Hope couldn't help but say as she followed his long strides back into the light and busy streets of Diagon Alley.

"Hope!"

A mess of frizzy brown curls hit her face as the owner of said curls collided bodily with Hope who grunted with surprise, but somehow had managed to stay vertical only by the use of her cane.

"Hermione!" Hope hugged her friend tightly. "At last! Someone who's not ginger!"

Hermione laughed as she released her. "You're ginger, Hope!"

Hope screwed up her eyes, making her hair shorten to a short and spiky bubblegum pink. "Who's ginger now?"

Hermione giggled.

"I've missed you so much!" Hermione spoke fervently. "We knew something was wrong when you wouldn't answer any of our letters!"

"Yeah, a barmy house-elf was nicking my post," Hope said.

"A _what_?" Hermione gasped, but Hope shook her head, mouthing "Later." "Never mind. Are you going to Gringotts?"

"As soon as I find the Weasleys," Hope said, glancing around for the family of red-heads that stood out anywhere. She chuckled nervously. "You'd think they'd be easy to find with that bright hair of theirs…"

"Oh, there they are!" Hermione was pointing to where a small group was sprinting up the street, consisting of Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley, all of them looking quite relieved at her reappearance.

"Hope!" Mr. Weasley said in obvious relief. "We'd hoped you'd only gone one grate too far…Molly's frantic with worry –she's coming now."

"How'd you get in the wrong grate?" Percy couldn't help but ask.

"I swallowed some ash," Hope said, becoming flustered, red splotches appearing on her cheekbones.

"Where'd you come out?" Ron asked, curiosity piqued.

"A place called Knockturn Alley," Hope said with a distasteful expression on her face, but the three youngest Weasley boys were impressed.

" _Wicked!"_ Fred and George said identically, ducking their heads around in an effort to see down the road Hope had just come from, but the view was hidden in shadow.

"We've never been allowed in," Ron bemoaned, envy coloring his voice. "What was it like?"

"Very creepy," Hope supplied with a grimace. "There were lots of bones and buckets of blood and enough poison and deadly weapons to make one consider a more peaceful way of living."

"You'd want a peaceful life?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"No, of course not," Hope disagreed, "what on earth gave you that idea?"

Hermione giggled and Ron shared a secret smile.

* * *

The last place that Hope would ever want to be was at Flourish and Blotts. It was a great bookshop, don't get her wrong, she'd gotten loads of books from there, but she had never been there during a book signing. She could sense that it was going to be a horrible experience. Hermione was quite excited about the whole matter, but Ron shared Hope's sentiment; it was too troublesome for words to express.

"What is the point of having seven books?" Hope bemoaned yet again as they entered the shop, with Hope's free arm looped around the crook of Ron's arm so she wouldn't trip or fall in the crowd. "I mean, Quirrel-Voldy was a bad teacher, but his book was amazing! So why in god's name do we need seven?"

Hermione gave her a sharp glare. "Hope, he's done a lot of amazing things—!"

"Doubtful," Hope said morbidly, "with terrible titles like these " _Year with the Yeti_ ", " _Voyages with Vampires_ "…oh Hades, " _Magical Me_ "?! The _vanity_ …I thought it was bad when I read about Narcissus!"

"Who's Narcissus?" Ron asked in confusion as they were jostled to the side.

"Greek prince," Hope said, leaning back so they wouldn't be mauled by some overexcited witches, "he fell in love with his own reflection and withered away staring at it."

Ron blinked. "How is it that you know so much about Greek myths?"

"Childhood obsession," Hope admitted with a grin, but then she and Ron both swore, though not very loudly, as a short man with an annoyed expression on his face and a large camera clutched in his hands stepped on their feet in his haste to get a photo.

"Out of the way, there," he snapped to the pair of them, "this is for the _Daily Prophet!"_

"Big deal," said Ron, rubbing his toes, trying to get the feeling back into them.

"Who cares?" Hope said at the same time, earning her a glare.

Gilderoy Lockhart was not a very impressive man, and Hope thought she was quite right about his vanity. The way his hat was positioned made it so that his blonde hair was accented nicely and the blue of his robes matched his eyes. That blue wasn't quite the right shade, wasn't quite the real shade that Hope preferred. She wanted to gag at his appearance which was so obviously _fake._

He had looked up suddenly at the two comments they'd made and his eyes automatically went to her forehead, annoying Hope greatly. His next words horrified her.

"It can't be Hope Potter?"

Before Hope had any time to react (and by react, she meant run), Lockhart had grabbed her tightly by the arm and had hauled her onto the stage. She was more stunned than anything else and was quickly losing feeling in her fingers as the man instructed her to smile at the camera (which she didn't). Each time she tugged on it, for him to release her, his grip tightened.

She was further horrified to learn that he was going to be teaching at Hogwarts, and it was only after then that he finally released her, upon doing so, she slammed the end of her cane into his toe with great pleasure.

"Arsehole," she grumbled with annoyance and embarrassment at being singled out as she lumbered back to the Weasleys, giving her books over to Ginny, as she had no use for them. She was still bullied into buying them later on, but told Mrs. Weasley she and Ron could share, earning a fond pat on the cheek. "Think I could sue him for assault?"

Ron sniggered.

"Bet you loved that didn't you?" a cold, drawling voice that could only belong to one person interrupted them. " _Famous_ Hope Potter can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

"Oh, shove off, you twitchy _git,"_ Hope snarled, the expression on her face cold as ice. "Just because you have a need for attention doesn't mean that we all do."

There was a palpable tension between the two of them, and Malfoy's cheeks burned a pale pink. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Mr. Weasley and the twins had finally made their way over to where Hope, Ron, and Hermione stood.

"Ron! What're you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside." The balding wizard tried to gesture his brood out the doors when he too was interrupted.

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

Now, Lucius Malfoy was an impressive figure, though Hope loath to admit it. Power and prestige practically oozed off him, if his fine silk robes and immaculate blonde hair was anything to go by. However, he was also the sort of person that Hope distrusted immediately…there was a shadow that glimmered behind his eye that put her on edge.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said, his voice as frigid as Hope's had been when speaking to Malfoy Senior's son.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Mr. Malfoy said in an unfeeling voice that automatically made Hope hate him. "All those raids…I hope they're paying you overtime." Which they weren't.

As he said this, he reached into Ginny's cauldron to withdraw a worn down and reused transfiguration textbook.

"Obviously not," he said, his lips curling into an obvious sneer. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

"That's uncalled for, don't you think?"

His cold grey eyes swept over Hope. Her face was pale with anger, her eyes dark and glowing with heat. Her knuckles were white, clenched tight over the handle of her cane.

She canted her head to the side, well aware that all the attention was on her, and that she was using her "dangerous" voice, as Fred had aptly named it, when she became so dark and cold that it made people want to veer out of her way. "Your opinion of Muggles is abysmal at best, Mr. Malfoy, but I can assure you, that opinion is not shared, and as for sorry excuses of wizards…at least Mr. Weasley didn't switch sides as soon as the going got tough."

His eyes narrowed slightly at her blatant insult, but he could find no suitable words to respond to such a speech, and instead swept out of the shop with his son right behind him, glaring venomously at Hope's insolence.

The Weasleys, on the other hand, gave Hope a standing ovation, applauding her loudly and hooting with enthusiasm.

The smile Mr. Weasley gave her made her face brighten. Hermione looked faintly disapproving but smiled once she saw the relieved and amused expressions on her parents' faces. Percy was the only one who seemed to remain disapproving, because even Mrs. Weasley was smiling. Ron, on the other hand, was roaring with laughter, while Fred and George bowed to his best mate saying "We are not worthy!"

Hope had never felt so embarrassed and amused in all her life.

* * *

Sleep did not come easy to Hope the night before their departure to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. It was strange to be nervous about going back to Hogwarts, because she loved it there, and it was practically her home. But after spending this summer with the Weasleys, it almost felt as though she had a second home as well. She'd never had something like that before.

She pursed her lips lightly in annoyance, shifting onto her side, in irritated sigh left her lips as she did so.

"Are you still awake?" she said, speaking to the silent room, it seemed. A sharp intake of breath was all the answer she needed, telling her that her roommate was indeed awake.

"Nervous?" she continued, as if she often spoke to the mute red-haired girl that had hardly spoken two words to her all summer. She waited patiently for an answer, when, finally Ginny whispered, "Yes."

"I was nervous, too," Hope admitted, making Ginny turn her head on her pillow to look over at her. "I didn't really have anyone to tell me how to do anything…I was a bit lost. My relatives just dropped me off at the station and left me."

"Your family left you there?" Ginny asked, stringing a sentence together for the first time in front of Hope all summer.

"Yup." Hope snorted, though mentally cheering at the accomplishment. "The Dursleys and I aren't really compatible…in fact, we hate each other's guts."

"Ron said," Ginny said slowly, gaining her confidence little by little, though she still had a deep flush gracing her cheeks, "that as soon as you're legal, you're going to move out." She hadn't been there to see Hope's massive bruise, but she'd heard her brothers -particularly George- complaining about it.

"Yup," Hope said, "why torture myself further when I can be independent?"

When Hope heard the rather miniscule giggle, she knew there was hope.

Hope groaned, arching her back into the mattress. "What is with this bed? There's no nice spot at all!"

Then she sat up suddenly in bed, her expression clearing. "You know what we should do?"

"What?" Ginny asked fuzzily, rubbing at her eyes, wishing sleep would come sooner rather than later.

Green eyes met hers and the owner of said eyes grinned brightly. "We should go star-gazing."

"Star-gazing?" Ginny asked flummoxed.

Hope nodded her head, a movement Ginny could barely see in the dark. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

Ginny wasn't so sure; she couldn't see the appeal of staring up at stars for hours on end, but it was better than lying around trying to force herself to sleep.

"All right," she sighed, throwing her legs over the bed and standing up. Hope grabbed her arm and, in less time than it took her to blink, they were outside and Ginny was staring about owlishly.

However, Hope was far too busy gazing up at the stars with her head tilted back. Ginny could see why she liked to stare at them so much…there was a sort of calm beauty of the night sky that nothing could possibly compare to.

"That one's my favorite," she said, pointing up to the brightest star in the sky, "Sirius, the dog star."

"Why?" Ginny asked, her eyes following her hand and pinpointing the star with ease, as none of the other stars shone as brightly as it did.

"I don't really know," Hope said, slightly amused, "but it always struck me as ironic."

"Why?" she asked again.

"No idea," Hope said with a shrug of her shoulders, a wide grin plastered onto her face as she flashed it to Ginny who flushed darkly again, embarrassed at making eye contact. "Maybe one day I'll figure it out."

The name Sirius Black was long forgotten to Hope, the letter in which he had been named lost in the depths of her trunk, and she would not realize the connection between herself and the mass murderer until the next year had come round.

* * *

Chaotic was one word to describe the next morning at the Burrow. Later Hope would question how they got to the station before the train left, even if it was only by five minutes. The Weasleys apparently had a terrible organization problem, because as soon as they left the first time, George had to go back for his Filibuster Fireworks, and then they had to go back for Fred's broom, and then for Ginny's diary.

So, by the time the Weasleys plus Hope wheeled their carts into the train station, they were running very behind and tempers were high.

"I'll take Ginny, you two come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Ron and Hope as she rushed through the barrier with her daughter in hand.

Hope shrugged her shoulders as they disappeared. "Shall we?"

Ron nodded. "Together, then?"

And they wheeled their carts towards the junction between platforms Nine and Ten. Of the single thing Hope had predicted to occur, what truly did was an entirely different matter. The second their carts connected with the pillar—

CRASH!

The trolleys hit the pillar and bounced back, to Ron and Hope's complete and utter surprise. Trolley, students, and baggage went head over teakettle from the force of the recoil that ended up with Hope trapped under her heavy trunk and Hedwig squawking angrily in her cage, drawing attention to them.

"What the blazes d'you think you're doing?" a guard yelled over to them as Ron picked up Hedwig and rushed to pull Hope out from under her luggage.

His yell made Hope's temper flare. "Lost control of the trolley, what're _you_ doing?" she snapped back, helping Ron get their things back onto their carts, ignoring the purpling color of the man's face at her comment.

Ron pressed his hands into the brick pillar. "It's completely solid!" He glanced at the clock. "Oh no! The train's leaving!"

The clock had struck eleven while they had been righting themselves.

"How are we going to get to Hogwarts now?" Ron bemoaned.

Hope pinched the bridge of nose…this could hardly be a coincidence. It had to be Dobby. She gritted her teeth in annoyance. What was it that he'd said to her? _"Hope Potter must not go to Hogwarts._ " Well, it seemed he had succeeded, one way or another.

"Flashing!"

Hope blinked, looking at her friend, feeling as though she was completely missing something. "Sorry?"

Clearly, whatever it was, it obviously excited him. "You can flash us to Hogwarts!" he said, his eyes and smile bright.

"What?" Hope said weakly. "Ron, I've never flashed that far before! What if something goes wrong?"

"Then what about the train?" he asked. "That's closer, right?"

Getting farther away by the minute, but it was still nothing compared to the distance the castle was…and if they did some maneuvering, they could probably land inside the large compartment that housed all the student belongings…

"Come on, Hope! Give it a go!"

Hope opened her mouth when she glanced around quickly, taking note of the stares they were receiving. "Come on, we'd better get outside."

She still thought it was a very bad idea, but unfortunately, it was also the best one, considering the only other option was to flash directly to Hogwarts, and there was no way in _hell_ she was doing that. So, she and Ron wheeled their trolleys into an abandoned alley close to the station. At Ron's questioning look, she explained, "How do you think Muggles would react if they saw two kids disappear into thin air?"

Ron had to concede to that.

Hope moved the carts so that they were side by side, her fingers linking them together. "Okay, put your hands on mine, and don't let go."

No sooner than Ron had done so, the two of them had vanished, luggage, and all.

* * *

Hermione had already seen several Weasleys, but none were Ron and Hope was nowhere to be found and they'd already left the station, and Hermione was trying not to get worried, but…she was worried.

Worried up until the compartment door slid open to admit a red-faced Ron and Hope with tissues stuffed up her nose.

"What happened?" Hermione balked in surprise.

"We got stuck on the platform, we couldn't get through," Ron opted to explain while Hope curled herself up on the opposite side of the compartment, giving off the air that she was going to ignore them both. "We ended up flashing into the trunk compartment and Hope got a bloody nose."

"Flashing onto moving vehicles is much harder than originally thought," Hope's voice came out rather nasally. "If I don't end up vomiting, it'll be a miracle."

Hermione winced.

* * *

Hope, as it turned out, did end up vomiting and was largely out of it until they made it up to the castle, with Hermione and Ron detouring to drop her off to Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies, who righted her in an instant -a fever with a stomach bug brought on from magic use that had her unimpressed- but decided that she'd better stay overnight just to be on the safe side. So Hope had waved them off to have dinner without her, telling them she'd see them in the morning.

Which she did.

At breakfast Hope looked a little tired, but not as much as she had last year when she had to make up all that work from when she was in the hospital. And she seemed to be taking the whispers and stares rather well, considering.

"I can't believe you flashed onto the train!" Hermione was positively raving, now that Hope was completely with it to hear it. "Couldn't you have done something more sensible?"

"This is us you're talking about, right?" Hope inquired, quirking an eyebrow as she spread jam on her toast. "Not someone else?"

Ron sniggered into his bacon.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said, her cheeks pinking. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," Hope admitted, "at least I wasn't flashing to Hogwarts…I'm not sure that would've ended so well…"

Hermione and Ron grimaced as one.

"Hey there, Mystery-girl!"

"Wizard-boy," Hope replied, unimpressed, "you must stop flirting with me; people will begin to talk…"

Both of the twins laughed at that.

Ron gagged. "Come on! Do you two have to do that when I'm eating?"

"Yes," Hope and George said with matching grins.

"Have you got Lockhart today?" Fred asked conversationally.

"This afternoon," Hope bemoaned. "I know I'm going to hate that class, I just know it! I'm going to _die!_ "

"Better you than us," the twins chirped, ducking as bits of egg were tossed their way as they ran from the hall.

 _"Gits,"_ Hope muttered, dismembering her sausages and sticking them in her mouth.

"We'd better get going," Hermione said, checking her watch, "we've got Herbology in ten minutes with the Hufflepuffs."

Herbology went surprisingly well, in Hope's opinion. She'd never really minded the care and identification of magical plants, but the Mandrakes were a whole different matter. They were really weird, looking a great deal like fat little earth babies with a cry that could kill you. Even muffled, the sound was pretty bad. In this particular greenhouse, they were all paired in groups of four, in charge of repotting the Mandrakes, something Hope hoped she never had to do again. Hope, Ron, and Hermione were paired with a Hufflepuff boy by the name of Justin Finch-Fletchley; he was a chatter box, even with the earmuffs.

Herbology was a brief respite for the hellish lesson that was to come, and after lunch Hope, Ron, and Hermione found themselves in the stone courtyard, talking about their summers, family, and about nothing in particular, waiting for the bell to ring, signaling that they should begin heading to class.

Hope could tell the Hermione was a little upset that Ron had seen the most of her in the past few weeks, so she was trying to speak more to her than to Ron.

"I was in a terrible mood!" she laughed with Hermione, spreading out her hands as she spoke. "How else was I supposed to react to someone who's a complete and utter arse?"

"Maybe more tactfully," Hermione offered with a smile.

"But I don't think they know what that is!" Hope said with amusement. Hermione couldn't stop a laugh at that.

The hairs on the back of Hope's neck tingled, as if someone was watching her, and once she looked up she knew why. The person who was watching her must have been a new student. He was wearing the Gryffindor crest and had a bit of a mousy face and clutched in his hands was a camera. Cameras were quickly becoming a hated thing for Hope, not including the one that was shared between every member of Gryffindor House.

"Can I help you?" she asked mildly.

The fact that she was talking to him seemed to embarrass him greatly, because his face turned a bright red.

"H-Hi!" he breathed in excitement. "I'm –I'm Colin Creevey. I'm in Gryffindor too. D'you think –would it be alright if– can I have a picture?" he asked breathlessly.

"A picture?" Hope arched an eyebrow. "No. Why?"

His face fell and Hope felt a little bad, but she wasn't very much into being a subject of a photo that wasn't for her or her friends. "So, I can prove that I've met you. I know all about you, everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning bolt scar on your forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move_." The excitement had returned to his voice and face. "It's _amazing_ here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So, I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you, and then, could you sign it?"

He seemed to have distinctly forgotten that Hope had quite fervently said "No." Her irritation about the whole matter grew in leaps and bounds once she heard a very familiar cold voice. " _Signed photos_? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"

"You know, I rather think you would benefit from a trip to the hospital wing, Malfoy," Hope said, maintaining her surprisingly mild voice. "If she can't cure you of your delusions of superiority, then at least she can cure your deafness."

A multitude of snorts echoed through the courtyard and Malfoy opened his mouth angrily, but Hope waved whatever he was going to say off. "You might want to think about what you say next, Malfoy, because I'm sure you don't have the brains for it."

She was so going to get in trouble for this later, but at the moment, Hope was far too annoyed; restraint was something she would practice at a later date.

"Did someone mention signed photos?"

"Oh, _gods!_ " Hope muttered as Gilderoy Lockhart flounced into the courtyard, wearing turquoise robes that brought attention to his eyes. Hope gagged, in front of him, and he didn't even notice. Was he purposefully blind to the fact that she really didn't like him?

He gave a beaming smile at the sight of her. "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Hope!"

Horror-struck, Hope found herself glued to his side and a subject of a photo that she hadn't wanted in the first place, and then she found herself being steered to her next class which was unfortunately his.

"A word to the wise, Hope," Lockhart was saying. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey –if he was photographing me too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much…"

"And we wouldn't want that," Hope said with biting sarcasm, still attempting to wrestle herself from his grip, but it wasn't working so much in her favor. She could see a number of students laughing silently at her predicament; she glared at them. _Gits._

"Let me just say that handing out signed photos at this stage in your career isn't sensible – looks a tad bigheaded, Hope, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need a stack handy wherever you go, but I don't think you're quite there yet."

Hope was so angry, embarrassed, and irritated that she couldn't come up with the proper words to voice how she felt, so instead, like in Flourish and Blotts, she slammed the end of her cane into his foot, and then swept it harshly between his legs, relishing in the squeak he made.

"Yeah," she snarled, "great advice, _tosspot."_

* * *

"I will kill him," Hope threatened, her fork carving a chip out of her plate that night at dinner, practically seething. " _Unbelievable!_ How can someone be so arrogant and unintelligent at the same time? How has stayed alive for so long?"

"Sheer dumb luck," Ron offered.

Hermione gave the pair of them glares. "I think you two are being too harsh on him; he's a professor!"

"And what's he taught us?" Hope retorted. "How to successfully run out of a classroom? How to not give a wand to a pixie? Or maybe how to not unleash pixies on unsuspecting students?" She rubbed her eyes with a tired hand as the Laughing Gas plus their ladies came to sit beside her.

"So," Lee said without preamble, "how bad was Lockhart?"

Hope groaned loudly and the upperclassmen laughed.

"I have never met someone so… _ooh!_ " Hope complained, flexing her fingers inwards every few seconds like claws. In fact, she looked vaguely feral-like all around, whether by intention or not. "I'm not going to last the year with him as a teacher…which is why he is going to find himself subjected to a prank in five minutes."

"A girl after my own heart," George said solemnly, pressing a hand to his chest directly over his heart, acting touched.

Hope rolled her eyes, now rubbing at her jaw where a bruise was forming from one of the pixie's attacks. "Don't make me hit you, Weasley, you know I will."

George laughed; the laughter soon joined by a majority of the hall as Gilderoy Lockhart expanded to the size of a small car.

"There," Hope said, sounding pleased, "now he's the proper size for his ego…or at least _closer_ to the proper size…"

"You are amazing!" Angelina said fondly, making the red-haired girl flush with pleasure at the praise.

"I do try," she admitted. "It wasn't much."

But Hermione looked horrified. "You blew up a teacher!"

"Yup!" Hope said, unconcerned. "Come on, Hermione! Don't be that way! You saw how terrible he was today!"

"Hands on experience!" Hermione cried in their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's defense, ignoring the other professors who were attempting –half-heartedly– to pull down the bloated egotistical man and reverse Hope's expansion charm.

"Of course," Hope said dryly, rolling her eyes.

But to Hermione's dismay, everyone seemed to appreciate the prank in the common room late that night, applauding Hope who had turned five shades of red that she hadn't been sure existed. This was a sort of fame that Hope would gladly revel in, she knew, because it wasn't for something she didn't remember, or something that her parents had done, so she couldn't help but spare a fond smile to her friend as she excused herself from the crowd to make her way up to the dorm room for the second year girls of Gryffindor House.

Parvati Patil was already there, putting her clothes into the dresser by her bed, as she apparently hadn't the night before, sparing her a quick smile before going back to her diligent work. Hope's gaze landed on the green leather-bound journal that lay on her bedside table, patterned with a serpent.

That was the journal that contained the personal thoughts of her grandfather. It had been among the books that Hope had removed from her vaults before the beginning of first year, but she had never begun to read it in earnest until that Christmas, after she'd met the man and bid him farewell at the same time. She had judged him harshly, she knew, but his opinion of those born Muggles or from Muggles with magic was even worse than Mr. Malfoy's. And at the same time, his past was so heartbreaking sad, especially concerning his wife.

It was into those pages that Hope had stuffed a sketch that had fallen out of Nath's pocket, and she'd almost given it back…but it was a sketch of her mother.

Her mother in dated clothing, but Hope had compared it to her pictures of her and they were identical. She hadn't had the opportunity to ask him why he had it, with everything that had gone on and it had become something that hung in the air between them.

And there was no easy way to ask the man that saved your life if he'd had an affair with her mother.

Parvati cast her a grin as she got ready for bed. "That prank of yours was brilliant, by the way."

"Thank you," Hope preened, "but you should seen him when I gave him the cane to his bits."

And then the dormitory was filled with peals of laughter.

* * *

Hope had received a lot of strange things, even so, Hope was very surprised to find a letter addressed to her one morning, without a name to indicate who it was from.

_You might want to read up on the Hogwarts regulations for Quidditch, I get the feeling tomorrow that you'll need it._

Though she was a bit curious of the message, Hope did as she asked, and the morning after, she was glad she did.

"Hope!" a voice hissed. "Wake up, sleepy-head!"

"Mmah?" Hope mumbled, throwing up an arm to shield her eyes as Angelina Johnson opened the curtains that surrounded her bed. "Wazzgoingon?"

"Quidditch practice," Angelina said duly. "Get dressed."

Hope moaned as she buried her face into her pillow, but she got up at Angelina's insistence.

If they had gone right into flying, maybe Hope would have been able to stay awake, but, as it was, Hope was deathly tired and the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, adding to her belief that they really shouldn't have even been up.

She fell asleep about half-way through Oliver's second board.

"So, is that clear? Any questions?" Oliver said, his voice jerking Hope suddenly awake.

"I've got a question, Oliver," George said, yawning widely and appearing as though he too had fallen asleep, which was highly likely, knowing him like she did, "why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

Hope coughed to hide a laugh.

That question didn't impress Oliver much, who glared at them all.

"Now listen here, you lot," he hissed, "we were lucky to even win the Cup last year, so this year we're going to train harder, now let's put these theories to practice!"

Hope couldn't mirror his enthusiasm. As they trudged out onto the field, Hope caught sight of Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands, waiting for her to finish.

"Done yet?" Ron called as she jogged over to meet them, gratefully taking the napkin filled with grapes from Hermione, one of the only food items that Hope wouldn't be able to spill or end up covered in grease by the end of it.

"Haven't even started," Hope complained around her mouthful of grapes, earning a stern stare from Hermione. "And I fell asleep in the middle of Oliver's theories so I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing."

"Bad luck," Ron said.

She rolled her eyes, kicking off of the ground and flying over to where the rest were hovering in the air.

"Fancy a race, Potter?" George asked with a grin.

"Get ready to lose, Weasley!"

And then the three of them were speeding through the air, doing complicated spins and turns that Hope hadn't been able to do in months.

Everything was wonderful until she heard that clicking noise that was more often than not accompanied with a camera. She groaned; really, what was with this kid? He took stalking to a _whole_ different level.

"What's that?" Fred asked, swerving his broom as he looked around for the source of the noise. "Where's that noise coming from?"

"First year Gryffindor," Hope said in annoyance, "one who's got an obsession with taking photos."

Fred snorted, glancing back. That was an understatement.

"Look this way, Hope, this way!"

"How much trouble do you think I'd get in for killing him?" Hope asked him mutinously, her expression going downright scary.

"Maybe life in Azkaban," Fred contemplated thoughtfully.

"What's—"

"What's going on?" Oliver had skimmed the air until he hung in the air close to the three of them. "Why's that first year taking pictures? I don't like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program."

"He's a Gryffindor, Oliver," Hope said curtly, rolling her eyes again.

"Besides, the Slytherins don't need a spy," George added.

"What makes you say that?" Oliver asked in annoyance.

"Because they're here in person." The whole team followed his finger, where it pointed off into the distance, where a small group of green-clad boys were approaching the field.

" _Unbelievable_!" Oliver growled. "I booked the field today! We'll see about this!"

All the Gryffindors dismounted, with varying degrees of irritation and anger.

"Flint!" Oliver roared, stomping up to the burly and bulky Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, who seemed to be amused by the anger present on Oliver's face. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

Unfortunately, that didn't deter the bigger team captain, who smirked. "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

Hope snorted. "Yeah, like that would happen. There is a point to having teams practice separately, you know."

Flint sneered at her. "What would you know of it, you lame—"

 _"Hey!"_ barked the whole team as one, and George pushed Hope behind him, much to her annoyance. "You shut up about her."

"Oh, were you talking to me?" Hope asked from around George. "I thought you were talking to yourself, because I quite agree with you."

So much sass could not be contained inside of Hope it seemed, because she was starting to sound an awful lot like she did when she was talking to Quirrell-Voldy.

"But I booked the field!" Oliver snapped, his cheeks bright red, bringing the two teams back to the task at hand. _"I booked it!"_

"Ah, but I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. _'I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.'_ "

This news distracted Oliver briefly. "New Seeker? You've got a new Seeker? Who?"

Her stomach reeled as Draco Malfoy came out from behind the taller, more impressive boys of the Slytherin team, his smirk earning him an incredulous look. "Malfoy?"

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred and George were gazing at the younger boy with increasing dislike.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father. Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

Each member of the team was holding a brand-new broom that was sleek and black with not a twig in disarray. _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ was inscribed on the handles of each one.

"You got your father to bribe the team to take you on?" Hope snorted. "You've _got_ to be _kidding_ me…"

Draco's lips curled into a sneer as Ron and Hermione made their way over to the group.

"What's going on?"

"I'm the new Seeker, Weasley. Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought for our team," Malfoy said with a superior smirk.

"Well, at least none of the Gryffindor players had to buy their way onto the team," Hermione said, feeling much braver than usual, channeling a bit of Hope. "They got in on pure talent."

Malfoy's expression darkened significantly at her words, and he snarled out, "No one asked for your opinion, you filthy little _Mudblood."_

Hope didn't know what that word meant, but it must have been bad, because the Gryffindors exploded in an angry gusto of the likes that she had never seen before. Fred and George in particular looked ready to rip out Malfoy's eyes and the girls were shrieking profanities at the boy. Everything came to a rather sudden stop at the sound similar to a cannon being fired, and everyone turned to see Hope holding her wand.

Like that time in the lower chamber with Quirrell-Voldy, she only came up with pure emotion, though this time, it was annoyance and anger.

"Now that I have your attention," Hope said dryly, crossing her arms in irritation, "how about this, one player from each team goes and gets their Head of House and have them work out this issue, alright?"

Surprisingly, they all agreed, opting not to press the issue.

* * *

"What d'you thinks they're talking about?" George muttered to Hope from where she sat next him on the front row of the stands, her fist pressed into her face, looking very bored…and hungry.

"Probably trying to make a compromise about when each team gets to use the pitch," Hope said in a monotonous voice. "It's in the school rules that teams have to sign up for whichever days they want to practice, and no signature from a teacher is going to change that."

She looked up and around to find everyone staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing," they all said quickly.

She glared at them all. "A fellow student gave me a tip-off that this was going to happen today."

"A student gave you a tip-off?" Oliver said astounded, repeating her words.

"Yeah," she said in a voice that implied an 'and so?'. "Oh, look, they're done."

"Mr. Wood," Professor McGonagall said in a firm voice, "you and your teammates have the pitch until lunchtime comes around, and then it belongs to the Slytherins."

"Fine," Oliver said with a despairing sigh. "Come on, team, let's warm up."

Hope squeezed Hermione's shoulder reassuringly as her eyes were a little red before loping gracelessly towards the rest of her team, her bright hair flying out behind her like a crimson banner behind her.

* * *

It was only later that day when Hope was getting her weekly checkup with Madam Pomfrey that she asked what that word Malfoy had said earlier meant.

"Madam Pomfrey, do you know what the word 'Mudblood' means?"

Madam Pomfrey dropped a vial of potion that she was putting away, whirling around to snap at Hope. "Don't ever say that word! You hear me? _Ever!"_

Surprised by her vehemence, Hope recoiled slightly and stared. "Why? What does it mean?"

The Matron of Hogwarts sighed tiredly. It wasn't really Hope's fault, it was clear she didn't know the connotations of the word. "Hope, you know how some people view Muggle-borns, don't you?"

"Yeah…" Hope said slowly. "Why?"

"Mudblood is a…derogatory name for someone who was born to non-magical parent," Madam Pomfrey said slowly. "Pure-bloods think of them as if they have dirty blood, the opposite of Pure-bloods."

Hope's face was strangely blank of emotion, before her eyes sparked with anger, turning an angry black, her hair changing to match. "That's horrible."

"It is," Madam Pomfrey agreed. "But some people simply think like that…I take it that someone insulted Miss Granger today?"

"Don't worry, the whole team cheered her up before we started practicing," Hope said.

"Good," Madam Pomfrey replied. "Now you come straight back here if you start feeling strained or feverish. Are you listening to me, Miss Potter?"

"Yeah, I heard you," Hope said in irritation, unrolling her sleeve and reaching forward to take back her cane when Madam Pomfrey grabbed it and moved it out of reach.

"I want you to start using your leg fully, Hope," the woman said seriously. "That's the only way it's going to heal completely, and you said you stopped having pain over the summer."

"Yeah," Hope admitted, her eyes dropping to her leg, as if she was capable of seeing through the fabric to where the scars marred her skin. "I'm just…"

"I know," Madam Pomfrey said gently, "but it's your leg, you need to get used to using it."

"I suppose," Hope muttered through a sigh. She stood up slowly, experimentally putting her weight on the leg. It didn't give her a flare of pain as a warning, so that was good. She took a few tentative steps; same response.

She let out the breath she hadn't realized that she had been holding. "Okay, but if this doesn't work, I'll be back here before you know it."

"Oh, I know," Madam Pomfrey said with a slight grin, "now get going; there's a plate in the Great Hall waiting for you."

"Oh, I know," Hope said, repeating her words. "See you later, Poppy!"

"That's Madam Pomfrey to you, Miss Potter!"

Hope laughed lightly as she limped through the doors, making her way slowly down the stairs. It was remarkably quiet without all the students rushing about. Deadly quiet. Hope's own footsteps echoed in the silence, in an almost creepy way, she had to admit. The flickering flames of the torches that hung on the wall cast an odd glow, an odd shadow on the stone that made up the structure of the entire castle. Sometimes those shadows could be quite freaky.

She would have gladly continued on, oblivious to the monster that lay beneath the floors, that is, she would have, had she not heard something, something that was low and guttural, dangerous and cold. A voice that chilled her to the bone and froze her in her tracks.

_"Come…come to me…Let me rip you…Let me tear you…Let me kill you…"_

A murderous voice that echoed in her ears, making her heart stutter frantically as she whirled around, searching for the owner of the voice.

"Hello?" she called out faintly. "Is anyone there?"

But no one answered her.

"I know you're there!" she said, her voice stronger this time. "I can hear you!"

But still, there was only silence as an answer to her words. Hope frowned; she couldn't have imagined that voice, could she? She was pretty sure that she wasn't much into killing. Could the voice be coming from within—

"Hope!"

She spun around to see her two friends running towards her, and she quickly removed her hand from the wall.

"I thought you two were still at dinner," Hope said in surprise.

"We finished and came looking for you," Ron gasped out, winded from the short run.

"We thought you might still be in the hospital wing," Hermione said logically, "but when we went to check, Madam Pomfrey said you'd already gone, so we figured that you would have taken the straightest route."

"Ah," Hope said helpfully, scratching her cheek, "am I that predictable?"

"Sometimes," they said at the same time, making them blush and Hope smirk with hidden amusement.

"You're really pale," Hermione noticed, "are you sure that you don't need to go back to Madam Pomfrey again?"

"Oh, no," Hope said, "I'm fine." She was still looking down the hall for something that couldn't be seen, though.

"What is it?" Ron asked, looking in that direction too, but seeing nothing.

"I thought…" Hope's voice faded away, her lips set in a confused frown. "It's nothing, forget about it."

"What is it?" Hermione prodded. "Come on, something's got you…befuddled."

Hope rolled her eyes at her. "It's just that…before you two turned up, I thought I heard a voice, only there's no one around."

She missed the worried looks that were exchanged behind her as she turned to look around once more. "It had to be real," she murmured to herself.

"Well," said Ron, chuckling nervously, "it can't have been someone invisible, because even they can make sounds."

"I know," Hope said annoyed, looking back at them. "Do you reckon I should tell someone? McGonagall or someone else?"

"No!" Hermione said quickly, "even hearing voices in the Wizarding world is a bad sign."

"You think I made it up?"

"No, but if what that house-elf told you is true," Hermione said slowly, sharing glances with both of them, "then maybe it has something to do with that plot that it was so scared of occurring."

"Maybe," Hope murmured, glancing back at the wall with growing suspicion.

* * *

The flames flickered in the fireplace, burning brands into the wood and releasing smoke and heat. It was late into the night by now, but Hope couldn't sleep, not with all the things that were on her mind, not with that voice plaguing her thoughts.

_"…Let me kill…"_

"Hope?"

She jumped violently and swore loudly at the sudden voice.

 _"By the gods!"_ she gasped, clutching at her chest, within which her heart was racing, looking up into George's blue eyes. His eyes were crinkled up in the corners at her response, and she blushed, hard.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, casting her eyes from him. "Anyone would react like that if you snuck up on them."

Truthfully, he hadn't really snuck up on her, but she must have been so lost in thought that it didn't matter anyways. "Sure," he said with a smirk, before looking her over, "what are you doing down here? Can't sleep already?"

"I guess," Hope shrugged helplessly, her lips upturning slightly. "What're you doing up?"

"I'm mentally devising new pranks," George said in a snobbish tone, sticking up his nose like he was arrogant. "I'm brilliant, as you know."

"Do I know?" Hope asked mildly. "I'm afraid I wasn't too aware of your acclaimed brilliance, are you _sure_ you have it?"

"Oh, absolutely," George grinned.

Hope turned her gaze back to the fire.

"I'm starting to think you have an obsession with fire," George mentioned as he sat down beside her. "You spend an awful lot of time looking at it."

"I just think fire's fascinating," Hope said dismissively. "Muggles have learned how to change its color, you know? Just like wizards can, only I think it involved something to do with salt…" She frowned for a moment, trying to recall what exactly had to be done for the color change to occur, but then she just shook her head and gave up. "I thought that was the most insane thing I'd ever heard as a kid. Imagine a fire being green, or blue, or even purple!" Her eyes changed to every color she named. "It must seem strange to you, but you grew up with fires turning different colors I guess…"

"Sometimes," George admitted, "though Mum and Dad weren't too keen on changing the color of the fire, they were afraid we'd stick our pudgy hands into it."

Hope laughed lightly. "Well, I don't think they'd be wrong in that aspect, but I think seeing it a couple times would be cool."

George wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just sat quietly beside her, watching the fire in the fireplace.

"George, can I ask you something?" Hope said suddenly.

"Sure," he said in response.

"That day in the Surrey Zoo," she said, looking at him in the eyes, "why did you go and talk to me?"

He stared at her. What a strange question to ask to him, and not one that he'd been anticipating. And she was looking at him so imploringly that he couldn't help but open his mouth and speak once more.

"People think I'm softer than Fred, you know," he said instead and Hope furrowed her brow in confusion. "I mean, I think I am, just a tiny bit, but I've always had him to snarl at people when they think I'm a bit…different. Fred protects me, and, if he needs it, I protect Fred…but no one protects you."

Hope looked away quickly, blinking a few times.

"I thought you looked like someone who needed a bit of kindness," George said earnestly. "If you're asking if I regret stopping to talk to you in the zoo, the answer is _no."_

Hope peeked at him out of the side of her eye, turning pink at his words, his honesty, and his smile.

"Really?" she asked weakly.

" _Really_ ," he promised, squeezing her fingers. "Good night, Hope." And then he stood to make his way back up the stairs to the dormitories.

"Night," she called after him, "and if you tell Fred about this… _I'll kill you."_

George had to smother his laughter so that he wouldn't awaken anyone with it, and once he'd gone, Hope flopped deep in the chair with a muttered, " _Fuck,_ that's not even _fair."_

* * *

It was a full moon tonight. Hope leaned her elbows on the stone railing that overlooked Hogwarts' vast land, staring up at bright star-filled sky. The stars always seemed to shine brighter when the full moon was out, but it was far easier to star-gaze when the moon wasn't out. She sighed longingly, flexing her stiff elbows from staying still for too long.

Her leg tingled slightly as she twitched it, but like the whole day, she felt no pain, and that, all by itself, was liberating. The leg still had tremors every so often, but Hope had been assured that that was a passing thing.

And sleep was not coming easily to her this night, so she had opted to wander around in the night, knowing the patrols like she did, because she couldn't very well wander around Hogwarts at night without knowing the patrols, she managed to evade the prowling upper classmen. It was not uncommon for her to do so, as wandering about at night or at day was something Hope Potter was becoming renowned for; earning the respect of the Weasley Twins who considered anything that involved breaking rules to be a plus.

The patrols were something wandering students always had to be on the lookout for, but Hope had once actually mapped out a timetable for when each patrol passed a certain sector, taking into account the possibility for being ahead of time or being behind. Single patrols were always teachers and double patrols were always prefects or the Head Boy and Girl. The next one wasn't due to pass by her for another ten minutes, so she was a little surprised when she heard the sound of patient footsteps. Patient single footsteps. This was remarkably strange as the next patrol that was due to pass was one that was made of students, not of teachers.

She didn't even have time to hide when the owner of the footsteps stepped into the corridor, and Hope couldn't help but be surprised by who they belonged to.

It was just a girl.

Her eyes were closed and her blonde straggly hair swung back and forth with every movement she made. Hope had thought that her gait was rather strange, but that was until she realized the girl was sleepwalking.

"Hey…" she nudged the girl, but she didn't respond until Hope gave her a sharp jab in the cheek, and then a pair of silvery-blue eyes fluttered open.

"Oh, hello," the girl said dreamily.

"Hello," Hope said, a little nonplussed. "You were sleepwalking."

"Was I?" she asked in bemusement. "I do that quite a lot. It's why I wear my shoes to bed, you see."

Hope looked down as the girl wiggled her toes in her bright red converses.

"Okay…" Hope looked at her oddly. "Do you need some help getting back to your common room?"

"Oh, yes, please," she said in a vague voice, "that would be lovely."

"What's your house?" Hope asked, her eyes taking in the bottle-cap necklace she was wearing over her dressing gown with curiosity.

"Ravenclaw."

"That's only a floor up," Hope mused, looking off into the distance. "The next patrol up there doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, so come on."

Luna Lovegood recognized Hope Potter as all did upon seeing the scar that marred her brow. She was surprised that the older girl was out late, but then, she apparently had a reputation for bending the rules. She walked with a slight limp, she noticed, and her housemates had said it was from a muggle automobile accident that had required her to use a cane for assistance in walking until this year.

"What's your name?" the Gryffindor called back to her as they ascended a tight spiral staircase.

"Luna Lovegood," Luna said airily.

"Hope." She didn't mention her last name, Luna noticed.

Luna tilted her head, gazing at her. "Did you like my little warning?"

Hope's footsteps stuttered at her question and she glanced back to the blonde. "So, it was you."

"Yes," Luna said dreamily. "I overheard some Slytherins talking about it and thought you might like to know."

"That's…" Hope struggled to find the right word before settling on "nice."

"It _is,_ isn't it?" Luna said with a beaming smile as they came onto the landing before the Ravenclaw common room. "How do you know where the Ravenclaw common room is?" Most Houses hardly interacted with one another.

A smile twitched her lips slightly. "I know a few guys that are all about knowing shortcuts."

"Ah!" Luna said brightly, coming to a stop before the bronze knocker that was shaped like an eagle.

Upon their arrival, its mouth opened and it spouted a riddle, much to Hope's amusement and surprise.

"At night they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?"

Luna thought hard for a few moments, but this one stumped her. "I don't know."

"The stars," Hope intoned dully beside her to her surprise.

"Well said," the knocker agreed, swinging open to reveal the common room.

"See you, Luna," Hope called lightly as she disappeared down the stairs.

Luna watched her until she had vanished completely in the shadows, before she skipped back into her common room once more.

Luna Lovegood was a strange one, Hope thought as she ducked behind a suit of armor so that the passing Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater wouldn't see her. She seemed to have a permanent expression of surprise on her face, accentuated by high arching eyebrows and wide eyes. Her company wasn't unpleasant, though, despite how short and to the point it was. It was refreshing for Hope to be around someone who wasn't like her friends from Gryffindor.

Still, Luna had her respect for that little stunt she pulled with the warning, whether it was needed or not.

* * *

The next few weeks passed slowly for Hope, much to her eternal annoyance. Lockhart was making her completely miserable, and had somehow managed to forget that she'd knocked him in the family jewels not too long ago. Hope had never been so close to killing anyone ever, not even Snape, until this year.

Gilderoy Lockhart was a very trying individual, that was the least she could say about him. The most she could say was: trying, egotistical, self-centered, arrogant, narcissistic _cock_ , and even that wasn't close to everything that he was. Hope had taken to ducking into spare rooms, whether they were in use or not, just to hide from him. She had once popped into Professor McGonagall's fourth year class, surprisingly not being given detention or a loss of points afterwards, mostly because Professor McGonagall was much too humored to give her a punishment for "looking out for your own well-being."

Lockhart wasn't the only thing that was making her miserable. She'd over-strained her leg again, making it ache with every step, and had ended up with a fever to boot.

" _Ow!_ "

Hope clapped her hands to her head, wincing in pain and eyeing Madam Pomfrey as though she was the enemy. "Do you have to jab so hard?"

"Perhaps I wouldn't if you had come in here the second you felt any pain," Madam Pomfrey in a surprisingly mild voice as a soft blue mist escaped the tip of her wand, surrounding Hope in a cloud.

"Is she alright?" Hermione asked, heavily concerned for her friend, who sneezed loudly from within the cloud.

"Hope has an abnormally high pain tolerance," Madam Pomfrey admitted, "but I can assure you, she'll be fine in a few moments."

The cloud cleared in a snap, leaving a very disgruntled Hope Potter behind in its wake. She crossed her arms in annoyance, her cheeks a faint pink in embarrassment.

"How did she get sick?" Ron asked curiously, ignoring how his friend huffed at them for talking about her right in front of as if she wasn't there.

"It's just what comes up over-straining that leg," Madam Pomfrey assured them, "she ended up sick from it last term too."

They both remembered that day close to the Christmas holidays when she'd been forced to hop around on her good leg, because putting too much weight on her bad leg had been agony.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ron demanded.

Hope gave him a sour look. "If I told you lot every time I was mildly inconvenienced, I'd still need a cane to walk."

"Be nice," Madam Pomfrey chided as she held out a thin bottle filled with a purple liquid that earned her an apprehensive look from her patient. "I want you to stay up here while the inflammation goes down with your fever.

Hope glowered at the potion and Madam Pomfrey gave her a look. "It's no different than an anti-inflammatory that muggles have, and I can promise you that."

Hope huffed and took her potion.

"I can send for some food to be sent up here if you like," Madam Pomfrey continued.

"But its Halloween!" Ron complained, however, Hermione's attention was on Hope's face which looked strangely closed off. Not that Hermione had never seen that expression on her face before, because she certainly had seen it before; the resignation at being alone.

"Can we eat up here with Hope?" she asked suddenly, drawing three pairs of eyes to her instantly and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.

Ron looked like he was going to protest one minute, but then he changed his mind. "Yeah, Madam Pomfrey, can we?"

Madam Pomfrey looked between the three of their faces, taking in the pleading eyes of Hermione and Ron and the dumbfounded ones of Hope. She sighed, _honestly,_ the things she did for this troublesome group of second years.

"Only, and _only_ , if Hope stays on that bed and the three of you _try_ not to make much of a mess." She gave them a severe look that Hope had sometimes been on the receiving end of by Professor McGonagall. "All right?"

"Yes!" the three second years promised quickly, and within minutes, they were tucking into a rather lavish dinner in the hospital wing. It was nice for them to be on their own for once, without everyone else making noise around them…sometimes some peace and quiet was very much desired.

The food, of course, was delicious as always, and their plates kept refilling themselves once they were cleaned. Hope hadn't eaten so much in days, due to her painfully throbbing head and leg, but now she was happy to eat to her heart's content.

Hope and Hermione didn't have too much difficulty following Madam Pomfrey's instructions, but Ron had always been a little bit of a messy eater, so that caused a few problems, though not very many. A mild cleaning charm erased the small mess from existence once they had all finished and Madam Pomfrey had checked over Hope again to make sure the potion was working, which it was, and then she sent them all on their way.

"That was a nice of her, to let us eat up there with you," Hermione said as they descended the staircase.

Hope shrugged her shoulders. "That's Poppy for you." Her grin widened at the uncomfortable cough Hermione gave at her use of the woman's first name. Hope ran a finger over the wall as they walked; tracing over the rough ridges and gorges of the stone, and it was then that she heard the voice that had long plagued her thoughts.

"… _rip…tear…kill…"_

Her feet firmly glued to the ground where she stood, quite unable to move. She pressed her hand more firmly into the wall, as if she would be able to feel the vibrations of the voice, and then she pressed her ear to the wall.

"Hope?" Ron was eyeing her curiously. "What're you—?"

 _"Shut up, Ron,"_ she hissed, straining her ears so she might listen more closely, "the _voice_ , I can hear it again, it's _back."_

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks that Hope couldn't see, but they clearly thought something was amiss, because they couldn't hear anything.

"… _so hungry…for so long…"_

Her ear was going to bruise by how hard she was pushing it into the wall, listening intently.

"… _kill…time to kill…"_

The voice was growing fainter with every word…heading up the stairs. Hope rushed after it, running through the Entrance Hall and then up to the First Floor, following it as fast as her weak legs could carry her.

"Hope, where are we going?" Hermione yelled from behind her as she and Ron raced after their friend.

Hope only made a shushing motion at them.

"… _I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD!"_

The voice was quite loud now and was echoing in her ears, making her stomach roil as the soles of her shoes slapped against the floor. She didn't stop running until they'd reached a deserted corridor that Hope didn't recognize and then she froze up completely.

What was that…hanging from the torch bracket?

"What was that all about?" Ron complained between pants for breath, bracing his hands against his knees. "I can't believe you can run that fast…" He didn't seem to have noticed how strangely quiet Hope was being, until Hermione gasped beside him, pointing up at the wall.

"Look…oh my—"

The shining letters were illuminated by the ominous glow of the torchlight.

**_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED._ **

**_ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._ **

"What's that…is that Mrs. Norris?" Ron balked, gazing in horror at the cat that was hanging beneath the message like an immovable shadow. It was indeed Mrs. Norris, and she was staring ahead with unblinking, glazed eyes.

Hope could feel the bile rising in her throat as she stepped away, the water soaking through her shoes. She could feel Ron's hand on her elbow, keeping her upright as she stumbled over her own feet.

"Let's get out of here," Ron said tersely, glancing down the corridor but seeing no one.

"Why?" Hope asked blankly. "Shouldn't we do something?"

"No," Ron said seriously, "trust me; we don't want to be found here. We should leave."

But it was too late for that, the distant sounds of the rest of the school leaving the Great Hall could be heard echoing through the hall. If only Hope could have used her flashing…but then reality rained on her parade. The noise, however, abruptly faded at the sight of Hope, Ron, and Hermione standing in the middle of the hall and the sight of Mrs. Norris and the words she was lying under.

And then there was a shout, a shout that stirred anger within Hope. "Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next Mudbloods!"

Draco Malfoy seemed to take great pleasure at the sight of Mrs. Norris' body. Ron tightened his hand around her elbow in case she felt the need to sock the arrogant Pure-blood in the face, which, she had to admit, she was nursing the desire to do.

"I'm going to kill him," she hissed under her breath so that only Ron and Hermione could hear her.

"Not where there are witnesses."

Hope blinked and stared at Hermione as if she'd never quite seen her properly, and the girl gave her a very firm look that told Hope if it had been any other insult, she wouldn't have responded in such a way.

Filch's voice could be heard coming through the crowd, and Hope gave a mental wince. Everyone in Hogwarts, absolutely everyone knew of Filch's deep affection for his cat, and Hope knew he wouldn't take her condition well.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he screeched upon catching sight of Hope standing the nearest to the feline. " _You! You!_ You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"

Hope opened her mouth, an affronted expression plastered onto her face, but she didn't have enough time to defend herself before a voice interrupted her.

" _Argus!_ "

It was Dumbledore, arriving with the rest of the staff, eyes raking over them, the cat hanging from the brazier, and the words on the wall. In a matter of seconds, he had removed the cat.

Hope's heart beat against her ribs when Dumbledore spoke again. "Come with me, Argus. You too Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."

He couldn't possibly think that she was one that killed Mrs. Norris, did he? She, Ron, and Hermione were just in the wrong place at the wrong time! But when had that ever mattered to adults? It had never really mattered if Hope wasn't even around, she'd still gotten the brunt of punishments by the Dursleys; it was more of the fact that she existed that they found to be a personal slight to them.

So, she and her friends followed the headmaster and several of their teachers into Lockhart's room -his being the closest and him being so eager to accommodate-, feeling as though all the eyes were on her as they moved through the crowd.

Hope sank into the nearest seat and Ron and Hermione followed suit. Hope tugged subconsciously on her earlobe as if believing that would cause the voice to leave her mind, but it hadn't. She sighed tiredly, switching to rubbing a few fingers against her left temple.

Dumbledore was inspecting the cat closely, his face bent so close that his crooked nose was probably being tickled by the long hairs of Mrs. Norris' fur. Hope couldn't help but wonder how a closer look was going to make a difference; Mrs. Norris was still going to be dead.

Filch was inconsolable, and Lockhart wasn't making it any better with his comments. "It was definitely a curse that killed her –probably the Transmogrifian Torture– I've seen it used I've seen it used many times, so unlucky that I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved her…"

A stifled snort came from Hope's general direction, but instead of being told off by Professor McGonagall, which was likely, Hope noticed that her Head of House's mouth just faintly twitched; she must've liked him even less than Hope.

What Hope really wanted was for Lockhart to shut up, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen any time soon. He really had no understanding of other people, did he? His orders were only making Filch sob worse and even as much as she didn't like him, it reminded her too much of the gut-wrenching sobs of a father of a child in the muggle hospital that had passed away suddenly in the next room over.

It was a painful sound.

"…I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogao, a series of attacks, the full story's in my autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various amulets, which cleared the matter up at once…"

Hope rolled her eyes at Ron who was staring at their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor like he was out of the world, and not in a good way.

"She's not dead Argus," Dumbledore said finally straightening up from his examination.

"Not dead?" Filch's voice was high and shaking from his tears. "But why's she all –all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been petrified," said Dumbledore, making Hope frown. Petrification was rare, it had been more common in the sixteenth century than any other century of magical history, not counting the instances in Ancient Egypt and Greece that were only partially recorded, and Hope had only found that whilst flipping through pages in one of the many books in her trunk. There were very few creatures that could petrify, as it was a "natural talent" and the closest anyone had ever gotten to replicating it with a spell was with the _Petrificus Totalus_ spell. "But how, I cannot say…"

"Ask _her_!"

Hope blinked owlishly as all the attention was turned on her. She balked in incredulity.

"No second year could have done this," Dumbledore said with certainty, his eyes drifting over to where Hope sat. Her body was rigid and her eyes icy cold and completely black, his fists balled tight once and relaxed. And she had never looked less like her parents.

"She did it! She did it! You saw what she wrote on that wall!" Filch shrieked, jabbing a finger at Hope who stood up angrily.

"I never go down that corridor and I'm not even close to being tall enough to write that message!" Hope snapped heatedly.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," Snape spoke with his silky voice, making Hope's eyebrow twitch in annoyance. "Potter and her friends may have may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was she in the upstairs corridor at all? Why wasn't she at the Halloween feast?"

Hope's mouth snapped shut and a distinctly pissed off expression clouded her eyes. Hope was very private about her visits to the hospital wing; most times she didn't even tell Ron and Hermione when she was dropping by. Snape would have to rip out her tongue first before she admitted to being in the hospital wing.

Her fingers curled into balled up fists.

"Well?" he prompted with sneer.

Before Hope had the opportunity to advise him on a perfect place to shove his wand, Hermione and Ron had slapped their hands over her mouth, smothering the words.

"I suggest, Headmaster," Snape said slowly, taking in the hateful glare Hope was throwing his way, "that Potter is not being entirely truthful. It might be a good idea if she were deprived of certain privileges until she is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel she should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until she is ready to be honest."

"Ooo ud!" Hope said behind the two hands over her mouth.

"Really, Severus," Professor McGonagall interrupted swiftly, her eyebrows drawn together in irritation, "I see no reason to stop the girl from playing Quidditch. This cat wasn't hit over the head with a broomstick. There is no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong."

"And there won't be any," Hope added, finally wrestling Ron and Hermione's hands from her face. "Because I didn't do anything!"

"Innocent until proven guilty," Dumbledore said with a slight nod to McGonagall.

That didn't seem to please Snape or Filch, but there was little that could be done. Hope and her friends hadn't done anything wrong, and so Hope, Ron, and Hermione found themselves being escorted back to the common room by their Head of House. Ron and Hermione were quite silent about the whole thing and Hope was very tight-lipped. So, Professor McGonagall held her back as the others entered the common room.

"Miss Potter, next time you are questioned, perhaps it would be best to just say you were in the hospital wing," Professor McGonagall said dryly.

Hope scoffed lightly, digging her hands into her pockets, looking particularly incensed. "It's none of anyone's business what I do in my spare time."

And she clamored through the portrait hole without a look back.

* * *

The Chamber of Secrets was on everyone's mind for the weeks that followed the "Mrs. Norris Incident," as it had been dubbed, even Hope's, though she was more worried about it than anyone else, even if she didn't show it. The Chamber of Secrets was something Salazar Slytherin had made himself, a chamber that supposedly held a terrible monster, it was a rumor that Salazar had encouraged, though he never mentioned if there was any truth to it, not physically or even in that little journal of his. Heir of Slytherin could easily refer to her, honestly, even though she hadn't petrified anyone or written on any walls.

She'd never felt like informing anyone about that specific relation, and now she wanted to do it even less with how a lot of students were beginning to regard her with increased suspicion…which was ridiculous as it was infuriating. Dumbledore had singled out Ron and Hermione, too…but it was always Hope that it fell to. And it was hard not to feel disheartened.

Either way, she was stressed and anxious and beginning to feel like she did when she was in the hospital.

"Miss Potter? A moment of your time?"

Hope paused before exiting the Charms classroom, waving her hand at Ron and Hermione, telling them not to wait up as she turned to face Professor Flitwick.

The short-statured man was easily one of her most favorite teachers, right up there with Professor McGonagall. He seemed to find her sarcasm quite humorous and enjoyed explaining the theory behind certain spells when Hope was having a hard time.

"Yes, Professor?" Hope said politely, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

"Hope." She blinked at the use of her first name. "No one truly thinks you had anything to do with Mrs. Norris' attack, you needn't be so worried."

"I'm not worried, Professor," Hope said, her tongue tipped with annoyance. "I know I didn't have anything to do with it, and that's what matters." Even aloud it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

Professor Flitwick gave her an almost sad smile that Hope didn't really care for. "Look after yourself, Miss Potter."

Hope tipped an invisible hat to him. "Will do."

"What was that about?" Hermione asked as soon as she'd caught up to the two of them.

"Professor Flitwick just wanted to say that he knew I didn't have anything to do with Mrs. Norris," Hope said with a careless wave of her hand.

"Nice of him," Ron grunted, noticing several students around them becoming skittish at the sight of his best mate. He glared at them. It might not have been as impressive as Hope's but it fit the bill quite well.

If Hope noticed them, she didn't comment, but then Hope was always able to brush off things like that, or, at the very least, appear to brush them off.

"I don't suppose we're going to properly see you for a complete day?" Hope called out after Hermione who was racing ahead of them in the direction of the library.

"No!" Hermione called back to them, giving them a brief wave as she jumped up the stairs two steps at a time.

"Do you think she's going to tell us what she's looking up in the library?" Ron asked her.

"Doubtful," Hope drawled.

"Do people always assume you're the bad guy?"

Hope glanced at him, surprised by the line of questioning, and then she smirked. "Usually, yeah," she admitted, "I've got the face of a troublemaker, didn't you know?" Her words came out a bit too dry and bitter to make the sarcasm work, though.

Ron considered her out of the corner of his eye, noticing her hair had steadily lost the red she preferred throughout the day. It wasn't quite black yet, but it was getting there. "By the way, why aren't you and George talking anymore?" Ron asked curiously. "Did you two have a fight or something?" As ludicrous as it sounded, Hope and George _fighting_ , there wasn't really a reason for why they'd ceased talking.

Her smirk froze on her face and then she was streaking in the opposite direction as soon as Ron's elder twin brothers rounded the corner. Ron cast a glance towards them before following his best mate's speeding away steps.

"Alright, spill it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," George said in a vague voice, barely glancing at his twin, which was a first for him. Fred arched an eyebrow at George's inability to meet his eye.

"I'm talking about _that._ " Fred was pointing a finger into the distance where Hope could be seen, nearly flying as she moved in her haste to get away from George. It was strange that she was actually averse to the Weasley twin; Fred would have never thought it possible, until he saw it today. "I've never seen her avoid you before!"

Angelina was glaring at George as well. "You did something," she accused.

George opened his mouth, floundering. George would have never thought that he would've found himself in this position with Hope. She was avoiding him, actually _avoiding_ him! Every time he came even remotely close to approaching her, she went tearing in the opposite direction, and he didn't even know why.

"I don't even know what I said!" he complained, burrowing his hands into his hair.

But that wasn't completely true. He knew exactly what he'd said because the way she'd looked at him had been so startled, so offended and so very disappointed. And that stung more.

George stared after her with sullen look, watching as his little brother raced after his friend.

"Hey, Hope!" When he finally caught up with her, she was sitting on a stone rail of the viaduct, a favorite haunt of hers, he'd come to find out, with a deep frown settled on her face.

"Never thought I'd see the day where you and George ever fought," Ron said in a light voice that told Hope he was trying hard to make the conversation not quite so awkward, which was very hard to do, considering he was talking about his best mate and his brother. "What'd he do wrong?"

Ron never seemed to assume that it was Hope that had done anything wrong, that always meant a great deal to Hope, even when she often felt that she didn't deserve it.

_"Nobody thinks that you're the great-great-granddaughter of Salazar Slytherin."_

Hope's eyes narrowed into angry slits. "He just…" She sighed, raking a hand through her already wind-blown hair, making her locks look even wilder than before. "He said something that made me mad." The way he'd said it made it sound like she couldn't _possibly_ be related to Slytherin, and that was what really got her fired up.

"What kind of something?" Ron prompted, canting his head at her.

Hope shook her head. "Don't worry about it, its not that big of a deal."

"It is to you," Ron replied stoutly and Hope spared him a smile, jumping off the rail and stumbled as her feet came into contact with the floor. "We should get going; we've still got that Medieval Assembly of European Wizards to write."

Ron smacked a hand against his face, having completely forgotten about the essay, it was due in about an hour! "Why did you run out here in the completely opposite direction of the library?!"

Hope cracked a smile, her mask of calm broke, which had been Ron's intent, and he was pleased that it had succeeded. Hope looped her arm around the crook of his elbow with a grin. "Lead on, shining knight."

Ron's ears turned a bright red, and she couldn't help but release a swift laugh that echoed in the silence as they made their way slowly back to the castle, up a large number of stairs, before finally reaching the library at long last.

However, finding the proper book from which to write the essay was increasingly difficult, as a large number of students were in the library writing the very same essay. At least, it was a difficult hunt for the proper book, until a thick tome was slid Hope's way.

She barely looked up in time to catch sight of a ponytail of blonde hair whip around the corner. The scrap of parchment inside the cover said: _For last year. We're even._

So, it must have been Daphne Greengrass, then. It was true that they weren't friends and that they hardly spoke to each other, but it seemed Daphne knew a little about debts, even small ones, such as being offered a book. Hope wouldn't have counted it as a debt, more of a favor, really, but she wasn't going to press the issue.

Hermione seemed to have vanished, which was pretty impressive because you couldn't really vanish from inside a library. Hope had already finished her essay and was looking around for her when Ron began to mutter furiously under his breath.

"This essay's _impossible!_ " he grumbled. "Hermione's already finished hers, and its four feet and seven inches!" He cast her a look. "And you know how small her handwriting is."

Hope's lips lifted into a smirk before she pulled his essay towards her, tracing a finger over the lines of Ron's scrawl, her eyes moving back and forth as she read it over. "Well, you listed everyone involved in the assembly, but you've forgotten to include the reason for the assembly in the first place."

"Ah!" Ron pulled his essay towards him and the book they had been sharing as well, rifling through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "Perfect! I bet this'll make it to three feet!"

It was at this time that Hermione finally reappeared.

Hope arched an eyebrow at the irritated expression splashed across her face. "What's up? You look like someone stole your favorite book when you weren't looking."

Ron hid his snort with a hacking cough that earned him a glare from Hermione and Madam Pince.

"Oh, shut up." Hermione pulled back the chair next to Hope and sat down hard, giving Ron the opportunity to turn half of his attention to his essay. "All the copies of _Hogwarts, A History_ have been taken out and it'll be another two weeks before one is free. I wish I hadn't left mine at home, but there was no way I could fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books."

Hope cocked an eyebrow, giving off the appearance of confusion while in the worry set in and she swallowed nervously.

"And why do you want it?" she asked, keeping her tone deceivingly light.

"The same reason everyone else does," Hermione said in a "duh!" voice, "to read up on the Chamber of Secrets."

"Do you even know if the Chamber of Secrets is even mentioned in _Hogwarts, A History_?" Hope inquired, nervously tapping her fingers against the wood of the table.

"I must have read in there at some time," Hermione muttered to herself, for the most part ignoring Hope and Ron.

"Done!" Ron set down his quill in relief, leaning back in his chair before checking his watch. "And with ten minutes to spare! Excellent!"

Hermione glared at him again. "You should have finished last week like I did!"

"Why aren't you yelling at Hope, then?" Ron demanded as they left the library not too long after, heading towards their History of Magic class with Binns. "She didn't finish hers until a few minutes before me!"

"Hope's been sick," Hermione said with an airy wave of her hand, "what's your excuse?"

It was almost funny how they could talk about Hope like she wasn't there, and sometimes it annoyed Hope, but right now it didn't. She worried about the knowledge of the Chamber, she worried that people would find out of her relation to its creator, and that was a connection she hoped none would make, because she had no love for the Founder of Slytherin House; he had done far too much bad to outweigh the good.

She gave a silent sigh of relief when they finally made it to History of Magic, settling down into a boring lecture. Hope generally tuned Binns out -he wasn't much of a teacher, preferring always to drone on about goblin rebellions and neglecting other crucial parts of history, some of which Hope found very interesting-, and today was no different. She pulled out her quill and began taking her own notes on the bits of the passages that would most likely appear on the test of the chapter.

However, she like the rest of the Gryffindors turned and stared when Hermione's arm shot up into the air, waving around impatiently.

Hope wasn't sure if anyone had ever interrupted the ghostly professor before, they must not have, going off of how Binns paused and stared at Hermione in surprise.

"Miss-er—?" Binns had always had a bit of an issue with getting anyone's names right, though she had to wonder how he ever passed back papers without knowing their names.

"Granger, Professor," Hermione said, a little out of breath, "I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets."

Hope's heart stuttered in her chest, and she glanced up and caught Binns meeting her eye nervously…did all the ghosts know of her relation to Salazar Slytherin? She remembered that the previous year, the Grey Lady had known instantly of her connection to the man, but could the same be said for all ghosts? Her heart fell into her stomach. It seemed so.

"My subject is History of Magic. I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends," the apparition professor corrected in his croaky voice as he returned to the text, "Now, in September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers—"

But Hermione's hand had shot up again, interrupting him for a second time.

"Miss Grant?" And he'd forgotten her name again.

"Please, sir," Hermione said imploringly, "don't legends always have a basis in fact?"

Hope pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. Why on earth couldn't she just leave it alone?

"Well, yes," Binns admitted, "one could argue that, I suppose. However, the legend of which you speak is such a very _sensational_ , even _ludicrous_ tale—" He didn't seem remotely keen about telling them until he looked out at all the eager faces watching him and listening to every word he said.

"Oh, very well," he conceded. "Let me see…the Chamber of Secrets…

"You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago –the precise date is uncertain— by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built the castle together far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution."

Ah, yes, the famed Witch Trials. The Muggles had barely caught any real witches or wizards, but it was enough to make them hide their magic when in public.

"For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more _selective_ about the students admitted into Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school."

Hope frowned slightly. Godric and Salazar had started off as fairly good friends, she knew from his journal, but after that argument, they never reconciled and Salazar died alone, bitter with resentment. It was kind of sad how south his life went.

"Reliable historical sources tell us this much. But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing. Slytherin, according to the legend," he added, "sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all those who were unworthy to study magic."

"The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course," he said, as the rest of the class waited for him to tell them more, but it was clear that he had nothing more to say. "Naturally, the school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible." And by gullible, it was clear that he meant all of them.

"Sir –" Hermione interrupted again, "what exactly do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control," Binns said coolly.

In the wake of his words, many theories began to crop up, forcing the ghostly professor to stall his lecture in order to calm them down, and even that didn't occur until the bell rang signaling the end of class.

"You two go on ahead," Hope said to Ron and Hermione, "there's something I want to talk to Binns about."

They didn't question her, for which Hope was eternally grateful as they turned on their heels and exited the classroom, leaving her alone with the slightly transparent bluish ghost.

"I thought you might want a word," Binns grumbled, more to himself than to her.

"You know about me, don't you?" Hope guessed. "You know about…you _know."_

Binns surveyed her in an almost tired fashion, his opaque eyes fastening on hers, as much as they could in his transparent state. "Yes."

"Do all the ghosts know?" Hope asked weakly.

"Only a few," Binns conceded, "others are not quite so adept to seeing…his blood flows within you, to those skilled enough, we can recognize the signs."

"Great," Hope mumbled under her breath, "this is exactly what I need today."

"We'll keep our silence, as we have with your father and grandfather before you," he continued. "The ghosts of Hogwarts are not dishonorable beings."

Hope's lips twitched upwards into the barest of smiles. "Thanks."

He gave a slight inclination of the head before collecting all the scrolls of parchment that was their homework and floating through the wall, leaving Hope alone in the room trying to slow her erratic heart rate.

* * *

In the coming days, Hope began to notice increased watchful eyes towards her, earning the watchers a pair of stony eyes staring at them unnervingly until they looked away. It was obvious that everyone thought she was the Heir of Slytherin, which was only half true.

Yes, she was descended from him, but it wasn't as though she shared his beliefs.

She was getting so sick of all the whispers that now followed her everywhere she went, as if waiting for her to slip up and announce "Yeah, I really am the Heir or Slytherin and I like to send out monsters after cats and Muggle-borns in my spare time," which was never going to happen.

Hope had become quite irate in the presence of the stares and whispers, something all of her professors were all quick to note. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were pretty understanding, given the situation, while Professor Sprout tried to be as calm as she could when dealing with Hope's sarcastic tongue, but Snape and Lockhart were the worst.

She was going to _die_ in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, she just _knew_ it.

Snape was, of course, as insufferable as he'd always been, so that wasn't surprising, but Lockhart had taken to reading out passages from his books instead of actually teaching them anything (the only thing Hope was learning was "How to spot a fraud") and most times he brought Hope to the front of the class to act out parts with him. Hope's face was so murderous that it was quickly becoming the most humorous class for the Gryffindor second years.

She was becoming so angry and miserable, that one day, late at night, Michael the suit of armor found her sitting with her legs dangling in the free air at the top of the Astronomy Tower, asking him quite solemnly if Salazar Slytherin was really as bad as everyone said.

"I suppose that depends on your point of view," Michael conceded ambiguously and Hope gave him an annoyed look, turning her eyes beyond the endless night, to the stars in the clear sky. "There's two sides to every coin, Milady, and Salazar Slytherin was no different."

Hope turned to look at him in surprise as the armor settled down beside her, the metal creaking and groaning. "Salazar Slytherin killed many, wizard and not, he didn't discriminate against those who attacked him…but he wasn't a senseless murderer, not the way history portrays him. It's a hard lesson that you will have to learn."

She looked away, thinking about Quirrell burning at her touch. "You sound pretty certain I'll have to," she muttered glumly.

Michael shrugged. "You have an air of destiny about you."

It was a strange thing to say, but there was no hint of doubt in his voice, and it made Hope look away quickly.

"As to why Salazar Slytherin was the way that he was," Michael continued on, "I suppose someone can only take so much tragedy before it hardens their heart completely…you know, of course, that Lord Salazar was born into an ancient and noble magical family, but that several years after his birth, his parents and younger brother were killed by muggles who burned them at the stake for witchcraft, and he only survived because he had been out playing in the field at the time and had hidden in the tall grass when they took them away."

It wasn't really a question, but Hope nodded all the same.

"He grew up, shaded with disdain for the beings that killed his family, but it was Lady Morea who taught him to let go of all that pain and anger and loss and start to live."

Hope chewed on the inside of her cheek. "So, he was happy?"

 _"Exceedingly_ happy." She could practically hear his smile. "Morea Marinos brought out the best in him. She gave him a daughter who, even without a drop of magic in her veins, became a revered and renowned pirate captain—"

Hope balked at that. A powerful wizard like that…having a _squib_ for a daughter and not throwing her out? From what Ron had said about squibs, that was usually how they were treated.

"And then she gave him a son who was so very like him…a son that delved too deep and too dark, leaving death and darkness in his wake."

Hope swallowed thickly. "What'd he _do?"_

"He killed his mother, his sister, and his sister's husband, leaving Salazar's only grandson unscathed," Michael explained quietly.

Horror twisted in her stomach.

"He was horrified once he'd realized what he'd done, but he couldn't take it back," Michael's voice had gentled. "The only way to fix it, he thought, was to rip the magic out of him…an act that cost him his life, which perhaps might've been his goal all along."

Hope sat there, processing his words with lead in her stomach. Thinking how uncomfortable she felt when magic was used on her, like worms writhing under her skin, how she wanted to duck when a wand was pointed her way…and Salazar's son had ripped it out of himself, not considering if he lived or died…that was so very…Hope.

"What about Salazar?" she asked thickly.

"He descended into madness and grief, emerging as a much more solemn man when he met Godric Gryffindor for a second time. He conceded to assist him in his endeavor to craft a school for those of magic where they could learn in peace and quiet and have no fear of prosecution. At the time, it was a revolutionary idea, and one that reaped benefits, because up until that point, young witches and wizards were taught in the solitude of their home…but, as you know, Salazar Slytherin refused to teach those with 'impure' blood running through their veins, because he held a deep mistrust and disgust towards Muggles and those borne of them, due to the tragedy of his family. Some prejudice can come from terrible experiences, but that's no excuse. Those beliefs have shaped centuries of hatred for Muggle-borns, and if he were still alive, he would be _horrified_ of how his image was twisted."

Michael's armored fingers dropped to Hope's shoulder. "You do not bear the weight of his sins, Milady, do not try. But there are still dangers within these walls, more than you might think possible."

Hope frowned. "You mean the Chamber? And the person that opened it?"

"More even than that," Michael pressed. "The spell that keeps my soul bound to this armor is failing and I fear…you are on your own from here on out."

Hope had been on her own since she was a child, and while Michael had been a comforting and steady presence…he was very old and Hope didn't want to be the reason to keep him chained to one life like Salazar Slytherin had.

"I'll be all right," she assured him carefully before inclining her head politely. "Thank you, Sir Michael Richmond, for your dedication to my family."

The helmet bowed more deeply. "Milady, it has been the honor of my life."

And, as usual, Hope was left with infinitely more questions than answers, her throat aching to scream.

* * *

"I can't _believe_ you're fighting with him!"

"Can we please not talk about this right now?" Hope griped through gritted teeth. "And we are not fighting, we're just not talking; there's a difference."

"Not much," Hermione muttered as they walked past the writing on the wall, pausing to look at the glistening words.

"Are those…scorch marks?" Hope asked suddenly, drawing their attention away from the wall and towards the floor at where there were indeed black marks etched into the stone. "Here…and here. Where did they come from?"

"No idea," Ron frowned, kneeling on the floor to scratch at the blackened area. "You ever read about something that could make scorch marks?"

Hope frowned. "I don't read up much on magical animals…but I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that."

"Hey, you guys," Hermione called over to them, "look at this. This is funny…"

She was standing over by the window which had been cracked open slightly, though which a rapid line of spiders was crawling out of, as if eager to get away from the castle.

"That's strange," Hope said, leaning her head in close, "have you ever seen spiders act like that?"

"Not at all," Hermione agreed, "what about you, Ron? _Ron?"_

Both girls turned to see their other friend as far from them as possible to be still in earshot, though his body was tensed as if ready to dash off in the opposite direction as soon as he possibly could.

"What's wrong with you?" Hope asked in bemusement.

"I-don't-like-spiders," Ron said in a disjointed manner that made Hope and Hermione exchange surprised looks.

"I never knew that," Hermione said, "you've used them in potions loads of times—"

"Yeah, well, I don't mind them dead," Ron snapped, avoiding looking at the little black arachnids crawling out of the window. "I just don't like the way they move."

Hermione couldn't stifle a giggle and Ron's ears burned an angry red and he opened his mouth—

"All right," Hope said quickly, interjecting before a full-on war could start right in front of her, over _spiders_ , no less, "ignoring Ron's arachnophobia…guys, wasn't there a lot of water on the floor?"

Hermione blinked, glancing towards the ground. "Yeah, didn't you slip in it?"

Hope nodded. "Where did it all come from?"

"It was level with this door," Ron said, eager to be off the subject of spiders, "but…that's a girl's toilet, we can't go in there."

Hope couldn't hide the snort. "Well, Ron, Hermione and I have to use the loo somehow, that would be quite difficult without using a girl's toilet."

Ron blushed bright red, amusing the girls further. "Oh, you know what I _mean!"_

"Let's go have a look around," Hope said, wrenching the door open, "oh, come on, Ron! It's just Moaning Myrtle's place!"

"Who's—?"

Hope had only been into this toilet once during school, and that was because she had really needed to use the loo, or else she wouldn't have bothered even coming into the bathroom in the first place. It was one bathroom that you wouldn't want to do your business in because it was by far the gloomiest, dampest, dreariest bathroom Hope had ever seen, and once you factored in the overly emotional ghost that haunted it, it was practically unapproachable.

The ghost in question was hanging in midair as if sitting on a floating, invisible seat, which was highly plausible, now that Hope thought about it.

"Hello, Myrtle," Hope said calmly; Myrtle didn't react very well to cheery tones.

"Hello," she said sullenly, her eyes falling on Ron's. "This is a _girls'_ bathroom. He's not a _girl._ "

"No," Hope agreed, speaking before Hermione could, because Hermione could be a little obtuse sometimes about others feelings and Hope knew better how to deal with the ghost. "He's here with me and Hermione. We wanted to ask you if you noticed anything on the night of Halloween. Did you?"

Myrtle took in a deep shaking breath and Hope waited for the waterworks, but surprisingly, they didn't come, instead Myrtle began to speak with a dramatic air. "I wasn't paying attention. Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to _kill_ myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I'm – that I'm—"

"Already dead?" Ron finished for her, jumping when she gave a keening wail and dived into the OUT OF ORDER toilet, spraying water everywhere.

"You don't need to point it out," Hermione admonished, "she's _very_ sensitive."

"She's always like that?" Ron asked aghast.

"Typically, she's a lot worse," Hope said with an airy wave of her hand as they exited the room, "and that is why no one uses the bathroom."

_"RON!"_

All three of them jumped wildly at the loud yell, swiveling around to see Percy Weasley gaping at them.

"That's a girls' bathroom! What were you—?" he gasped, his voice raising an octave.

"Just having a look around," Ron said quickly, seeing where his older brother's mind was going, "for clues, you know—"

Percy swelled in a manner that looked remarkably like a blowfish -Hope watching in fascination to see if he would expand any more- as he strode over to them, ushering them away from the bathroom door. "Get-away-from-there- Don't you _care_ what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner—"

Hope's face had gone completely white with anger and she pushed herself away from the prefect and stalked away from him and down the very stairs that he had just come up.

"Great going, Percy," Ron snapped, "now she's in one of her moods again."

Percy opened his mouth to defend himself, when Hermione said in disappointment, "I can't _believe_ you just said that to her! Everyone's been saying that about her, but I never would have expected it from a Gryffindor, especially one who knows how she acts and doesn't act."

"We have to go find our _innocent_ friend, Percy," Ron added, "and apologize for what you just said, so goodbye."

And then the two headed after her, leaving Percy gaping and feeling a twinge of remorse.

Calming Hope down was relatively easy when you knew her as well as Ron and Hermione did, but finding her first was an entirely different matter. She wasn't at the viaduct bridge like she usually was, or the Astronomy Tower, it was only by trudging up to the Owlery that they actually managed to find her.

She was leaning against one of the walls, tracing her fingers lightly over Hedwig's feathers, humming softly.

"Hope?" Hermione asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she muttered, "absolutely bloody _perfect_ , that's what I am."

She cast a glare towards Hermione, who, to her credit, did not flinch, despite how dark they were burning.

"Ignore Percy," Ron added, "he's always been a bit obsessed about appearances."

"You think he's the only one?" Hope snorted. " _Please_." The Dursleys were a great example, but she was also talking about probably about four-fifths of Hogwarts as well. "I'm starting to really hate this year."

"You and me both," Hermione mumbled. "Come on, you don't you come back down to the Great Hall with us?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You can still walk down with us, can't you?" Ron prodded with a slight smile. "Come on…"

Hope tried in vain to keep that frown on her face, but one end of her lips twitched upwards and she finally agreed to leave her vigil by Hedwig's side and to make herself go down the steps.

"Anyways," Ron said, issuing a long exhalation of breath that turned to fog in the cool air, "I was saying that Malfoy could be the Heir of Slytherin."

Hope bit the inside of her mouth.

"And Hermione says she might have a way to prove it."

Hope arched an eyebrow at the brunette whose cheeks dusted pink. "Might have a way," she agreed. "Of course, it would be difficult, and dangerous, very dangerous. We'd be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect—"

Hope frowned thoughtfully. "Are you thinking about what I think you're thinking about?"

"Quite possibly," Hermione agreed.

"Sometime this year would be nice, you two," Ron drawled out in annoyance.

"What Hermione is suggesting is a way to transform ourselves into Slytherins and interrogate Malfoy without him knowing it's us," Hope explained in a dry tone, knowing that it was entirely pointless, there was no way in hell that Malfoy could possibly be related to her through that line; if he was, she'd eat her own shoe.

"But that's impossible," Ron complained.

"Not entirely," Hermione disagreed, "if we had a bit of Polyjuice Potion we could do it."

"What's that?" Ron asked flummoxed.

"It's a potion that can transform you into someone else," Hope explained. "Malfoy wouldn't know it was us if we were disguised as three Slytherins."

"But what happens if it goes wrong and we're stuck looking like a couple of Slytherins forever?"

"It wears off after a while," Hermione said calmly. "But getting hold of the recipe will be very difficult. Snape said it was in a book called _Moste Potente Potions_ , and it's bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library."

"Oh, you won't need to worry about that," Hope said suddenly, "I own it."

Ron and Hermione turned to stare at her. Hermione was gaping at her. "Where did you _get_ that book?"

Hope crossed her arms uncomfortably. "It was in the pile of books that I grabbed from my vault and that has been sitting in the library in my trunk for the past year or so." They were still staring at her as they rounded up the stairs to the common room. "Hang on, I'll run off and grab it."

"Do you ever wonder why she has the strangest books?" Ron asked Hermione, still staring after the Potter as she ascended the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

"Honestly, I've given up wondering about Hope," Hermione said, rubbing a hand over her forehead, "it's best just to go with it."

That, Ron could agree on.

Hope descended the stairs not several seconds later, clutching in her hands a large weighty tome that looked as though it had mold growing on it.

_"Ghastly."_

"Shut up." Hope ran a finger down the index, finding the page in question that she was looking for and flipping to it slowly so as not to damage the other pages. "Here it is, the Polyjuice Potion…Hermione's right, it's incredibly difficult."

"I thought you knew all about it?" Ron asked in surprise, earning him an eye roll.

"I wasn't looking at the ingredients or the directions, genius," she said with the barest of humor. "I was more interested in the effects of the potion."

"Lacewing flies, leeches," Hermione was muttering, looking over the list of ingredients required, "fluxweed, and knotgrass. Well, they're easy enough, we can get them from the student's store-cupboard, but…powdered horn or a bicorn, shredded skin of a boomslang…and we'll have to cook it somewhere where it can't be seen."

Hope stood up suddenly. "I've got the best place. Come on, follow me!"

Ron and Hermione were doing an awful lot of chasing Hope around today. They leapt up stairs and raced down corridors until Hope finally came to a stop in an area of the castle they had never been to before.

"Where are we?"

"The fourth floor, Michael told me about this place a while ago, but I've only been up once or twice," Hope said, smoothing her foot over the stone floor, speaking clearly and saying, _"Give me a place to stand, and I will move the earth."_

"You've read the _Iliad_?" Hermione asked, surprise coloring her voice, her eyes widening.

"It was actually my grandmother who came up with the password," Hope said generously, "these are her private quarters…well, they would've been, really its more of an honorary thing, I think."

"What—?"

But then the stones of the wall had slid outward as if they were steps intended to be trodden on.

"Up we go," Hope said, placing one foot on it and then the next, pressing a hand against the trapdoor on the ceiling and opening it, hoisting herself into the hidden room. "Come on, you two!"

It took them a little bit of time to finally clamor up and onto the new landing.

"Whoa!" Ron said in bafflement, staring around in surprise and awe. The area was wide and spacious with only the edge closest to the window having a carpet thrown down over the hard stone floor, upon which a couch and two chairs had been placed on top of. With the roaring fire in the fireplace, it looked a little like the Gryffindor common room, including the stairway leading up to what could only be assumed was a dormitory of sorts, but with very obvious differences. The rest of the room had a multitude of items, such as a bookshelf stacked to the ceiling with old tomes that looked as though they hadn't been read in centuries, and there was a shelf filled with rare potion ingredients.

"It looks like a potion's lab!" Hermione said, moving around a bit to gaze at it all. "Michael told you about this?"

Hope bobbed her head. The suit of armor that once housed his spirit was empty and quiet, but that was all right. Her eyes flicked towards the lowest shelf of the bookshelf, where she had wedged Salazar Slytherin's journal not a few days prior. It had seemed as safe a place as any to put that old journal. She wasn't even sure if Salazar had stepped foot inside it after constructing the hidden quarters. "Great, isn't it?"

"Fantastic!" Hermione breathed.

"All the potion ingredients have permanent Everlasting Charms on them," Hope added, nodding to the shelf with all the bottles, big and small, "shall we see if there are any that we need?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, barely able to speak with her excitement vibrating through her.

Ron stood back as Hope and Hermione glanced over the list of ingredients and then the labels of the bottles, smiling fondly. He was often made fun of for being close friends with two girls, but no one else got Hope like he did, or even Hermione, even though they fought like cats and dogs some days. Hope made life fun, even if it was a little dangerous, but he'd take that life any day over a boring one.

* * *

"Stop worrying, Oliver," Hope admonished as the team sat down for their pep talk on Saturday before the match against Slytherin. "We'll be fine."

He didn't look so convinced, but then he steeled himself, no doubt putting on a brave face. "Alright, team. Slytherin has better brooms than us, there's no point in denying it. But we've got better _people_ on our brooms. We've trained harder than they have, we've been flying in all weathers, and they're going to rue the day they let that bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team."

"Hear, hear!" Hope called out, earning a few mild chuckles.

"Get that Snitch before Malfoy, or die trying, Hope," Oliver said seriously to the youngest member of his team, trying his hardest not to comment on how she and one of his Beaters weren't saying two words to each other, "because we've got to win today, we've _got_ to."

Hope gave a two fingered salute.

Fred winked at her. "But no pressure, Hope."

He got the one fingered salute.

The tension hung over the group like a cloud on a bright day, and George looked as though he was fighting the desire to pull Hope around to face him so that she would look him completely in the eye. Oliver coughed uncomfortably before leading them out and onto the pitch.

Adrenaline was pumping through Hope's veins as she positioned her broom under her, waiting for the kick-off whistle, which greeted her after the captains had shaken each other's hands, looking more like they were trying to break the other's fingers than having a show of camaraderie.

She kicked off of the ground faster than her teammates, whipping her head around searching for that little golden ball. Seeking was easily the hardest part of Quidditch, and anyone who said different was full of shit. The idea that Malfoy could even come close to Hope without that broom of his was _ludicrous_ , but the fact remained that his broom could give him an edge over Hope's experience, as much as she loathed to admit it.

"Alright there, Scarhead?"

Malfoy had to come up with some better insults, because the ones towards the scar on her forehead were getting old, even though they gave her a twinge of annoyance every time she heard them used.

She opened her mouth to retort with a nice swearword, but she had to duck suddenly when a black Bludger came pelting towards her head in the vain hope that she would be spared of a braining.

"Close one!"

George sped past her in the air, speaking almost subconsciously, because Fred and George typically talked to their teammates during games that to not do so would be regarded as strange, even though they weren't speaking to each other. He raised his bat to the Bludger, giving it a powerful strike that should have caused it to pelt towards Slytherin Chaser Adrian Pucey, but it only maintained that course for a few seconds before rocketing towards Hope's head again.

This time Hope really did swear, diving quickly and doing several evasive maneuvers that would have unseated anyone who hadn't practiced them for so long, but the Bludger followed her as if it had some sort of magnetic attraction to her. She shot towards Fred who was raising his bat, which she ducked neatly under.

A loud crack told her that the bat had made contact with the Bludger and she could hear the happy yell of "Gotcha!" but unfortunately, the Bludger was only stalled in its pursuit of Hope which it continued to do so, much to the laughter and cheers of the Slytherin section of the stands.

The presence of the Bludger was really putting Hope off her game, and the Weasley twins were shadowing her at every turn, trying to keep the enchanted ball from breaking the head of the most valuable player of the team. On the plus side, Hope had yet to score a broken bone, on the downside, Slytherin was in the lead, the Gryffindor Chasers needed the coverage of the Beaters, and Hope couldn't look for the Snitch with them hovering around her as if she was the sun and they were orbiting planets.

And it had started to rain; _perfect_.

With difficulty, George had managed to call for a time-out and the group of soaking Gryffindors huddled together on the ground looking worse for wear.

"What's going on?" Oliver demanded of the twins. "Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina from scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her," George bit out angrily, his knuckles going white around his bat, "stopping the other Bludger from murdering Hope, Oliver. Someone's fixed it, and it won't leave her alone, she's been the only person it's gone after all game!"

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since our last practice," Oliver said, his brow furrowed, "and there was nothing wrong with them then…"

Madam Hooch was beginning to walk towards them, so Hope blurted out, "Let me handle the Bludger."

"You're mental!" Fred snapped. "It'll take your head off!"

Hope glared at him, her green irises turning a dark color. "Look, there's no way that I'm going to be able to see the Snitch with you two flying around me. Oliver, tell them to let me handle the rogue Bludger." She turned to gaze imploringly at their captain.

"Don't be thick!" George exclaimed. "You'll be out there undefended—"

"I don't need some protector!" Hope snapped out, giving him a furious glare, and he reeled back, both remembering his words several weeks ago to her.

"Oliver, this is insane," Alicia stepped in, "you can't let her deal with that Bludger all on her own! It'll knock her off her broom!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Hope interjected.

"Let's ask for an inquiry," Angelina added, ignoring Hope as Madam Hooch came closer.

"If we do that, we'll have to forfeit!" Hope complained. "Come on, Oliver; tell them to let me handle it!"

"This is all your fault," George said angrily to the Keeper, "' _Get the Snitch or die trying'_ what a _stupid_ thing to tell her—"

"Ready to resume?"

Madam Hooch had finally come to stand just outside their little circle.

"Oliver." Hope's face was quite determined, how could he say no?

"Alright," he found himself saying, "Fred, George, you heard her, let her handle it."

None of the members of the Gryffindor team seemed pleased with that decision, but there was little else they could do, and there was no way that Hope was going to change her mind concerning it.

Hope and the others rocketed into the air, Hope dodging every few seconds looking for that small glimmer of gold that would signify the movement of the Snitch, but that was rather difficult in the rain, even if Hope was up for the challenge.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" Malfoy asked, roaring with laughter.

Hope glanced towards him, gritting her teeth, and it was then that she saw it.

The Golden Snitch.

It was flapping its silver wings too fast to be seen, bobbing in the air beside Malfoy's head, and he hadn't even noticed it yet!

_CRACK!_

Hope cried out as the Bludger slammed into her arm, feeling the bone break under her skin. The pain was numbing, but Hope had a car rip through her leg once before, and this, by comparison, was much more manageable. She turned her broom in the direction of Malfoy who ducked out of her way, not realizing that she was heading for the Snitch.

She pointed her broom downwards, going into a low dive, leaning close to the handle to give her an increase in speed as she came alongside the Snitch, her fingers closing around it as the Bludger came around to deal a blow to her back, sending her forward headfirst off of the broom.

Thankfully, the ground was remarkably close, even if it still jarred her broken arm.

"Hope!"

She could faintly see the outlines of Ron and Hermione racing in front of a cloud of red and gold that must have been the Gryffindor supporters.

"Hey," she said weakly as they knelt beside her, "we won."

"You're an idiot," Hermione said fervently.

"There have never been truer words," Hope agreed, closing her eyes and opening them again, straining her eyes when she saw something white and glittering to her right. "Oh, not you," she complained, "go away!"

"Doesn't know what she's saying," Lockhart assured the crowd of Gryffindors who didn't believe him for a second. "Not to worry, Hope, I'm going to fix your arm."

"I'd prefer it broken over whatever you could do with a wand," Hope snapped, attempting to sit up with the assistance of her friends, earning her a few chuckles from her House-mates. "I'll take my chances at the hospital wing, thanks."

"She really should, Professor." Hope blinked, having not recognized Oliver until he had spoken, completely covered in mud as he was. How on earth had he managed that? "Great capture, Hope, probably your best yet—"

"Thanks," she muttered, realizing a second too late that Lockhart had taken that opportunity to aim his wand at her arm and say an incantation. _"Oi!"_

She looked at her arm, and the sight made her faint; it didn't look remotely like an arm, being far too jiggly and rubbery.

When she awoke again, she was in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey was on the verge of an apoplectic fit.

"You should have brought her straight here!" she said angrily to Hermione and Ron who looked a little ashamed, even though it hadn't been their fault.

"You'll be able to, won't you?" Hope asked, making them jump, surprised that she was awake. "I'd hate to do everything one-armed for the rest of my life."

Madam Pomfrey gave her a smile, but it was more of a grimace. "I will, but it will be painful and you'll have to stay the night."

Hope groaned, but she conceded; there was no point in arguing with the Matron.

"Now, the both of you, out!" Madam Pomfrey ordered. "This girl has thirty-three bones to regrow!"

So, they left Hope alone and she flopped back onto the bed, completely and utterly frustrated.

* * *

Usually, George didn't have much of an issue with sleeping, but tonight was a different issue. Hope was usually the one to find wide awake in the early hours of the morning, Hope and Dean. George had lost count of the number of times he'd found them sleeping propped up on each other's shoulders; it was always amusing to tell them that they were almost late for class and watch them trip over each other in their haste to rush up to their dormitories, only to find out they had another two hours. The shocked and outraged expressions were as identical as they were hilarious.

But this time when he woke up and grabbed the Marauder's Map, no one was waiting in the common room.

It was almost disheartening to not see Hope sleeping restlessly, sideways in an armchair with a book open in her lap.

He checked the map, making sure no one would be patrolling in his way before heading off in the direction of the hospital wing, creaking the door quietly open and peering inside.

Hope was a small, curled lump, curved away from him, twitching far too much to be asleep. She lifted her head to look towards him at the sound of the door before huffing and looking away from him.

"Uh, hi," George whispered quietly, settling silently into the chair beside her hospital bed. "How are you?"

"A step up from how I was in the hospital at ten," Hope groused out and George noticed she was clutching her arm tightly, the one that had been boneless just hours ago. George had wanted to check on her after seeing her pale and limp in the mud, but he hadn't thought she'd appreciate it.

The moonlight casting through the windows was making her hair seem almost silver and George offered two hands. "May I?"

She stared at him, flummoxed for the longest moment before sitting up in bed and offering him her arm.

His fingers moved lightly, pressing down and smoothing along her skin in a manner that she wouldn't've thought was soothing, but was.

"I'm sorry," he said after the longest moment, "I shouldn't've said what I did…I was trying to cheer you up, but…I went about it the wrong way…if I'd known, I wouldn't—"

Hope sighed heavily. "Its not your fault. I don't really talk about it, being related to him." Just as she didn't talk about knowing when people were going to die; there were some things better kept unsaid.

George's eyes flicked towards her, but hers were too cloudy to ascertain what she was really thinking. "Still, I'm sorry…"

"Well, I'm sorry for what I said on the pitch," Hope said, breathing out as the prickling pain eased. "What you said was really sweet but…I'm just having a rough time, that's all."

"I noticed." Her hair hadn't been red in ages and he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen her smile.

"Dean things I should come home with him for Christmas," Hope added tiredly, "he says its his mum that's worried, but I think he's worried too…"

The Weasleys were staying for Christmas, he knew that. "It might be good to get away for a bit," George admitted, "get away from all this."

"Yeah," Hope admitted, "and then I can ask Nath if he's actually my dad, _yay."_

"Er, what?" George asked suddenly, thrown off.

"He had this picture of her, and—well," Hope shrugged helplessly, miserably, "no one ever says I'm like my dad…just my mum, and Nath tells his coworkers I'm his goddaughter, which makes sense, I guess, but they're always saying how like him I am…"

"That'll be an awkward conversation," George muttered and Hope grimaced.

"Maybe I won't start with 'Nath, did you fuck my mum?'."

George choked. "Yeah, maybe not."

Hope's mouth twisted faintly. "You know you didn't have to sneak out to apologize to me, right?"

George shrugged. "Seemed like as good a time as any, it's not like I could sleep anyways."

The look she gave him was so utterly fond that his ears reddened. "Is your arm feeling better?"

"Yeah," Hope realized with numbed clarity, looking down at her arm where he was still holding her. "Um, thanks."

"Uh, no problem," George said quickly, suddenly looking very flustered. "I guess, I'll, um, see you in the morning?"

It was pretty redundant to point out that it was technically already morning, so Hope gave a small nod, feeling warm where his hands had left her, watching as he ducked hastily out of the wing, leaving Hope to relax against the mattress, feeling her heart fluttering inside her ribs, only to jerk at a suddenly loud crack.

* * *

Hope awoke the next morning to find her arm a little stiff, but filled with thirty-three new bones, and she'd take that stiffness any day if it meant she had have all her bones in her arm. She cast a glance to the bed in the corner with the curtains drawn around it, hiding Colin Creevey's stilled body from view.

Once she'd left the hospital wing, she almost collided with another body and had to step back suddenly so she wouldn't.

"Did she finally let you go, then?"

Hope blinked. "Oh, it's you."

George grinned in a roguish manner. "You weren't expecting some other dashing ginger-haired Gryffindor, were you?"

"I didn't know you were dashing," Hope said with a slight smirk, "do tell."

"Ah, Milady," he said solemnly, sounding a bit like Michael, which Hope found didn't hurt nearly as much as she thought it did, "it is a rather lengthy tale that involves the outsmarting of pompous students and arrogant teachers."

"That's always fun," Hope said after a short laugh had erupted from her lips as he extended the crook of his arm to her, and she looped her arm around his and they descended the stairs together. "Ravenclaws and Lockhart?" she guessed.

"Oh, yes," George agreed. "Some Ravenclaws can be…"

"I can imagine," Hope said humored as they stepped through the doorway and into the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, something that confused and disappointed Hope a bit. She would have thought they would be the first to come and find her…she wanted to talk to them about Dobby, who had visited her in the night shortly before Colin's body had been brought in by Dumbledore and McGonagall.

She had barely managed to get a bite of toast when Angelina drew her attention from the food.

"So, you two aren't fighting anymore?" Angelina asked hopefully.

Hope tugged on the end of her dark ponytail, looking a little awkward. She glanced at George, but he was smiling at her. Her cheeks flooded with heat. "Erm, yes," she muttered, "we've worked everything out."

"That's great!" Alicia said in relief. "Because your boy here was wallowing in self-pity."

"I was not _wallowing_ —"

"He's not my—"

Angelina smiled sweetly, but there was something sly lurking in those dark brown depths. "You two are so adorable when you try to defend yourselves."

George mouthed wordlessly at the girl whom his twin had just begun to date, while Hope gave her friend a shrewd glare.

"Angelina," she said, her voice filled with warning.

"All right, all right," the dark-skinned girl conceded, drawing in her claws temporarily. "But, really, it's good that you two aren't fighting anymore…it's really _weird_ when you don't talk."

Hope stuck out her tongue before taking a long swig of pumpkin juice.

"Hey, Hope!"

Hope bemoaned the theft of her pumpkin juice, scowling at Dean as he drained it in one gulp, handing it back to her.

"You're a monster," she informed him emphatically and he grinned widely. "We must be related."

Laughter bloomed around her and Dean spared her a grin.

"Mum says you're coming home with me for the holiday, no arguments," he said. "She specifically said 'that girl needs a firm removal from that toxic environment you want to call a school'."

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Hope snorted. Diane Thomas was something else. "Are you sure that won't be a bother? I mean, I barely sleep and—"

"She's raised me, she's used to that," Dean waved her off. "You'll get roped into helping with dinner and biscuits, I feel like she'll put in more of an effort if you're there."

Hope stifled her sniggers, remembering the leftovers she'd had at his place over the summer. "Okay…wait, I haven't gotten you a gift!" She realized horrified.

"Oh, you don't have to," Dean said quickly.

"No, of course I have to!" Hope shut him down furiously. "But I've got a month, that's plenty of time…and you're running out of room in your sketchbook…I'll get you a new one! A bigger one!"

Hope's eyes were impossibly bright and Dean scratched his cheek, coughing, feeling very grateful when she twisted around, looking for her best friends. Fred and George sniggered at his embarrassment and he threw a scowl their way. "Anyone seen Ron or Hermione?"

"Nope," was the consensus of the small group, leaving Hope frowning slightly.

"I'll catch you later?" she asked, "I'm going to find them."

She was cheerfully waved goodbye, exiting the Great Hall in search of her elusive friends, almost running into Percy in the process. Honestly, she was going to have to watch where she was going, if she kept almost running into people like this.

"Oh, hello, Hope," Percy said brightly, a beaming smile plastered to his lips…and was that a hint of lipstick? Hope smothered her grin. "Excellent flying yesterday, really excellent. Gryffindor has just taken the lead for the House Cup –you earned fifty points!"

"Thanks," she said, surprised by how excited about that he was. "You haven't seen Ron and Hermione around, have you? I thought they'd be at breakfast, but I guess not."

"No, I haven't. I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet…"

Hope laughed lightly at Percy's words, but they gave her a different idea. And not five minutes later she could be found rushing along the fourth floor corridor, barking out a choice phrase and ascending the staircase that led to her grandmother's secret quarters.

They were both on edge as she hoisted herself through the trapdoor, only relaxing once they'd recognized her.

" _Hope!_ " Hermione gasped out loud, raising a hand to her chest as if its presence would calm her frantically beating heart. "Don't _do_ that!"

Hope rolled her eyes at her.

"How's your arm?" Ron added from where he was leaning on his elbows on the table upon which a pewter cauldron had been set up with a pale blue fire flickering underneath.

"A little stiff," Hope said with a shrug, "but Madam Pomfrey says that'll fade soon enough. Trust me, I'm fine," Hope added when they gave her dubious looks. "Seriously…Are you starting the potion, then?"

Hope leaned forward on the table so she could look within the black cauldron, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell, and frowning at the beige color it had turned. "Is it supposed to look like that?"

"We decided to start this morning," Hermione agreed, answering her friend's first question first, "after Professor McGonagall told us about Colin."

Hope frowned slightly, recalling how she'd first thought him to be a statue when Dumbledore and McGonagall had heaved him into an empty bed, just like Mrs. Norris had been.

"It should look like this until we add the bicorn horn," Hermione added, answering Hope's question.

"Looks disgusting," Hope said for good measure, earning her a sharp whack to the back of her head. "Dobby came to visit me last night," she told them.

Ron and Hermione looked up at her in surprise. "What? Why?"

Hope wrinkled her nose in irritation. "Apparently, he was the one that charmed that bloody Bludger, hoping that I would be so grievously injured that I would have to be sent home."

Ron's eyebrows creased together in a frown. "But that doesn't make any sense," he said, confusion obvious, "I mean, even last year when you got his with that Bludger, you just went to St. Mungo's and then came right back here when you were all healed up. Even if Dobby had gotten you seriously injured, you wouldn't be sent home. That never happens, especially with Muggle families."

"What do you mean 'especially with Muggle families'?" Hermione said, sounding a little insulted.

Ron backpedaled fast. "I don't mean it like that, I just mean that if they sent you home, for instance, then you'd be living with people who wouldn't know how to deal with a magical injury, that's all."

Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she didn't say much else on the matter, much to Ron's relief.

* * *

Hope's day went downhill the second she uttered that word to the snake that Malfoy had conjured out of thin air.

That word was " _Stop_ " but no one else heard it the way she did.

She could see the fear and the anger that flitted across their faces, as if she was the enemy, the abomination that should have never existed on the physical plane. Like she was a _disease_. Ron and Hermione had to drag her away from the converged group so they could speak without prying ears.

"You're a Parselmouth!" Ron exclaimed as soon as they were out of earshot. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Parselmouth?" Hope said flummoxed. She had never heard of such a word before. "What's a Parselmouth?"

"Someone who can speak snake language," Ron said. "Didn't you know you were saying it? It's no wonder Justin freaked out; for all we know you could have been egging it on, or something…"

This revelation of Ron's stung Hope, who would have never thought that her own friend would believe her to be capable of setting a snake on a fellow student. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists into tight shaking balls.

"The last known Parselmouth was Salazar Slytherin," Hermione added.

"And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-granddaughter or something—"

"So _what?"_

Ron and Hermione both blanched. Hope's voice had grown dangerous and cold; distant and frosty like a snowstorm was about to hit. She lifted her head and they saw that her green eyes had morphed to a midnight black, like dark, angry onyx spheres had been grafted into her eye sockets. Her voice trembled but it was hard to tell from what.

"So what if I'm Salazar's granddaughter," she snapped out like the crack of a whip, "so _what?_ I'm not the one sending people into the _hospital wing_ ; I'm not the one in control of some sort of _beast—_!"

"We're not saying that!" Hermione said, frantically trying to calm her down because she had once seen Hope's temper crack stone.

"Then _what?"_ Hope seethed. "Maybe I'll murder my whole family like his son did. Oh, _wait,_ I don't need to they're already _dead!"_ You knew it was bad when Hope brought up the death of her parents.

"We know you're not behind anything," Ron said, sounding a lot calmer than normal. " _Hope._ " He put as much emphasis as he could on her name, hoping that would snap her a little out of her anger.

The girl deflated a bit but still looked as though steam should have been pouring from her ears. Her clenched fists loosened and she released a heavy sigh, but much to Hermione's relief, the tension and anger seemed to have melted off of her.

That night, Hope went to bed early, feeling legitimately a little sick to her stomach. She hadn't meant to blow up like that towards Ron and Hermione, she knew very well of how… _unfavorable_ Salazar was, but, like his brother, Ron had brought up her possible relation to the founder, and not in a good way.

* * *

The next few days afterwards were remarkably tense, mostly because Hermione and Ron were trying to tread very cautiously around their friend, but also because the whispers about Hope had begun again and not in a good way. And Hope was even more miserable than before, her hair remaining the black that had initially begun to lighten to auburn, eyes black as coal, and Hermione and Ron could see the light bruising under her eyes from many sleepless nights. After the fourth night had passed, the tension between the three had finally eased past and they had all forgiven each other, like all children do, and the next day, Hope was feeling more like herself, enough to head to the library by herself in search of a good book.

Honestly, Hope was looking for a bit more instruction on Blood Magick, but it didn't look like the school had anything on the subject, so Hope was pretty much out of luck there. Instead, she found herself perusing the Invisibility Section. She skimmed her fingers over the titles in search of one that might explain how something could roam the castle unseen… _Invisibility for the Cowardly: A Guide to Hiding From Your Enemies…Travelling Unseen…_ that one looked intriguing. She lifted the book from the shelf, pausing when she heard low voices speaking close-by.

"So anyways," the voice of a young boy said, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as her next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while. Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told her he'd been down for _Eton._ That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"

Hope's hands clenched around her book and she turned on her heel, stalking up to Madam Pince to check the book out, pausing once again as she found herself close to the small group that must have been made entirely of Hufflepuffs.

"She always seems so nice, though," and Hope knew that was Hannah Abbott, anxious ball that she always appeared to be, "and, well, she's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear, so she can't be all bad, can she?"

Ernie MacMillan, she realized was the first boy, and his next words drove an ice pick through Hope's heart. "No one knows how she survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, she was only a baby when it happened. She should have been blasted to smithereens ( _Oh please,_ Hope thought angrily, _the Killing Curse doesn't blow you up, it just kills you where you stand!_ ). Only a really powerful Dark witch or wizard could have survived a curse like that. That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill her in the first place. Didn't want a Dark witch competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

"Do you just talk to hear yourself talk?" a new voice asked in irritation. "Because the last time I checked, surviving a killing curse doesn't automatically make you evil."

Hope glanced past the bookshelf to see George glaring at the small group.

"How would you know?" the first boy demanded, though Hope could hear the slight tremor of his voice; Fred and George could look very impressive when they wanted to, especially when they were irked or angry. Fred, in particular, could turn very nasty. "You and her haven't talked for weeks, probably because—"

"Because I said something stupid," George said, cutting across him, "I insulted her by accident and she took personally, which she should. We made up about a week ago, which you would have known if you weren't hiding away in your common room like frightened little rats."

But Hope was done with listening, and she took her book, striding past, keeping her face hidden from view until long after the library was out of view, her feet taking her all the way down to the first floor and she only paused when a voice called out her name.

"Miss Potter," Professor Sprout smiled faintly with a smudge of dirt on her cheek. "How would you feel about helping me in Greenhouse Seven?"

Hope blinked in surprise, as she'd never possessed much of an interest in Herbology, it was all right, and she did fairly well in it, but gardening wasn't something Hope had been allowed to do at the Dursleys…and she'd never been in Greenhouse Seven.

So, she followed the stout witch into the farthest greenhouse, the one that was supposedly strictly for potion-making ingredients. She left her book by the door, looping her cloak on a hook and began rolling up her sleeves and tucking her tie between buttons of her shirt.

"I hope you don't mind getting your hands dirty, Miss Potter?

"I don't mind," Hope assured her before glancing around the greenhouse with a bit of curiosity, "but, er, what exactly did you need my help with?"

Professor Sprout never quite struck Hope as the type of person to ask for help with her subject; she was a Master Herbologist.

"Repotting some plants for the most part," Professor Sprout said kindly. "We'll stick with plants least likely to attack you."

She cast a knowing glance towards Hope and Hope couldn't help but feel like her professor had picked up on her distaste towards the more dangerous plants, before setting her up in front of a pot of coarse earth with a trowel to break it up.

She dug her trowel in, twisting and adding a bit of water to moisten and soften it further.

"Do you do much gardening at home?" Professor Sprout asked, more to make conversation than anything else.

"No," Hope admitted. "Petunia likes everything to be a particular way, and she only plants roses." It was always funny when they refused to bloom, despite her tender love and affection.

"Don't like roses?" Professor Sprout guessed.

"Irises are more my flower of choice," Hope conceded, "but I think I'd like to plant something that I could use, like herbs and spices and potion ingredients, not that they'd ever let me do that." Her words came to a quiet mumble, and she dug her trowel in deeper.

For the most part, they worked in silence, and honestly Hope didn't have a problem with that. She didn't even realize how long they'd been going before Professor Sprout began to show her proper repotting.

"Now you don't want to have too many plants in a pot of this size," Professor Sprout warned her, "or the plants' roots won't have enough room to spread."

Hope nodded her head in understanding. "Can these plants only grow in greenhouses?" she asked.

"Oh, _no!"_ Professor Sprout laughed. "You can grow them indoors or outdoors just as long as you remember that some plants can't handle anything less than a controlled environment."

"Which is why you keep them in a greenhouse," Hope presumed and Professor Sprout clucked her tongue in agreement.

"Now, dear, why don't you tell me what's bothering you?" she asked lightly as Hope patted the dirt down around a cowbane plant. "Because it seems to me that you have been suffering silently to the point of breaking."

Hope dug into the next pot with a bit of irritation. "Well, no one really cares if I'm suffering, do they?" she muttered. "Oh, Hope's the Girl-Who-Lived? Guess we'll treat her terribly in the hope that she doesn't want to associate with the wizarding world unless when we want her to."

It was hard not to be bitter, so Hope didn't even bother pretending that she wasn't. She was bitter and miserable and she just wanted to leave, leave and never come back.

The Hufflepuffs would certainly be happy about that.

"I can't help that I was born the way I was," Hope said finally, lifting her eyes to meet Professor Sprout. "Everyone treats me like I asked for Voldemort to kill my parents, like I _want_ Dark powers, like speaking to snakes is automatically _bad_ , but…but I'm just trying to survive in a bad situation and pass my classes _like everyone else,"_ she finished miserably.

"Oh, dear," Professor Sprout said heavily. "Having a bad time?"

Hope bobbed her head.

Professor Sprout tutted as she came around to Hope's side, taking her hands. "Some beliefs are hard to give up, and I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but things will get better."

But when Hope left, she couldn't help but huff to herself, muttering "Easy for her to say, its not like she's dealing with this." She rubbed angrily at her face as she took the stairs, turning down an empty corridor, only to trip over something on the floor that she'd missed, sending her crumpling to the ground, knocking her knees painfully.

Hope muttered a complaint to herself as she leaned back to see what had tripped over and her blood turned to ice in her veins.

It was Justin Finch-Fletchley and he was as still as Colin Creevey had been, looking so uncommonly like a corpse that she had to scramble quickly away, horrified. And then she saw what was next to him. Nearly Headless Nick, not nearly as transparent as he had been, instead, he was smoke-black and as unmoving as Justin.

Hope couldn't even think as she got to her feet, she just knew that she had to get away, get as far away as possible.

And she blinked, and the next thing she knew, she was in her bed, shaking and trying to regulate her breathing.

* * *

Rumors spread like wildfire, and in a matter of hours, the entire castle knew that Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been attacked and that Hope Potter had been conveniently missing.

And the people that knew Hope knew that she'd been in her bed after spending a good amount of time in the bathroom, vomiting what precious little remained in her stomach, but that didn't stop several people from trying to trip her on the last day of class, upending a jug of pumpkin juice on her head, and being downright unsavory.

Fred and George were deeply unimpressed and offered some downright mean-spirited pranks in return, but Hope was quite over it emotionally, and she was quite happy to tell Professor McGonagall she was staying with a friend over the holiday and leaving the Polyjuice Potion to Ron and Hermione.

"You look terrible," Seamus had said when she entered the compartment she was sharing with him and Dean on the way back to London.

"Thanks," she said dryly, "I can feel it."

Dean frowned. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Someone cursed the stairs so it wouldn't let me get up to the dormitory," Hope said flatly.

Seamus gave a dubious look in Dean's direction and Dean himself looked pretty thunderous. "You should tell McGonagall." The irony of Seamus Finnegan telling her to tell an adult when she was having issues.

"Yeah," Hope scoffed, "I've tried that before, didn't really work out…nobody really believes me even when I tell the truth, so why bother?"

And then she curled up and went right to sleep, dreaming about a soft mattress and a gentle hand running through her hair and calling her 'dear heart'.

* * *

Diane Thomas knew a thing or two about being in a situation where you had no power, and Hope was someone she looked at and saw herself in. So, she was incredibly concerned when she came down the stairs to see Hope using a knife to cut into her wrist.

But it wasn't deep and it was in a shape she didn't recognize.

"Heal," Hope whispered, pressing her hand to her head and Diane watched the symbol glow brightly on her skin, blood trickling down her arm, only for her to grumble. "Nothing…why won't you fix me?"

It was heartbreaking.

Diane stepped into the kitchen and Hope jumped, eyes wild, but she walked to a cupboard to pull out the first aid kit and press a thick piece of gauze to Hope's arm.

"Darling," Diane said gently, "I know you're looking for an easy fix, but there isn't one."

Hope had never looked so incredibly disheartened.

"Depression is a mental disorder, your body isn't producing enough serotonin, its not something that a spell can fix because there's nothing physically wrong with you."

"I don't want to feel like this," Hope whispered.

"I know," Diane said, understanding more than she could possibly convey. "That's why I got you something that will actually help."

Hope balked slightly when she slid a pill bottle towards her. She lifted it with her good hand. "Sertraline?"

"Its an antidepressant, and I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get it for you, since I'm not your guardian," Diane admitted, "and you don't have to stay on it forever…but give it six months and see if it helps."

Hope held it, feeling distant. "When I was still going to therapy, my therapist wanted me to be on antidepressants, but the Dursleys always said no." She didn't know what they'd said to Jeanna, but it had resulted in Jeanna writing a report that was undoubtedly lost like all the others.

"Idiots," Diane muttered, taping the gauze in place. "You're perfectly normal, and if you can't produce your own serotonin, or you need a little help to kickstart it, that's hardly your fault. Don't let anyone tell you how to live your life, because sometimes the person that thinks they know best are digging you into a hole on purpose. Okay?"

Hope rubbed at her eyes. "Okay."

"Darling, you're a fighter, I know you are, so, you want to fight back? fight back, and fuck the consequences."

Hope let out a small, throaty laugh. "I don't think that's going to help me much at school; they all think I'm the enemy."

"If they're dumb enough to think you're the enemy, they deserve to get beaten by the enemy. You are not some weak, simple girl. You're a witch," Diane stressed. "You're a twelve year old with a sharp tongue and fists and _magic_ for when you fall short. Don't take shit from anyone. These people don't deserve you. You are fire and rage, you are a storm at sea, let them fear you, let them know they started this fight and that you finished it."

"I feel like that's counterproductive, telling me to get into fights," Hope said, regaining a bit of light in her eyes, but Diane merely arched an eyebrow.

"I know you got into fights at that school you went to before Hogwarts," she retorted, unimpressed, "what's stopping you from doing that now?"

Hope looked at Diane, really looked at her. At the dreadlocks pulled back by a bandana, at the dark twinkling eyes, at the sharp cheekbones and the firm jaw. Diane Thomas had to fight tooth and nail to get to where she was and had fought tooth and nail to keep it. She had carved a life for herself and Dean; she was a warrior, an ex-military soldier who didn't give a damn what people said about her as a young woman with a son and no father in sight.

She was the kind of woman that Hope used to dream about as a mother.

"So, when you go back to school…what're you gonna do?" Diane asked archly. "Are you going to take that abuse lying down?"

"No."

"What was that?"

"No!" Hope said a little louder, regaining the fire she'd lost in the past few months. "I'm gonna kick their asses!"

"Atta girl," Diane nodded approvingly, searching for her cigarettes before huffing when she couldn't find them. "Stick it to the pricks…now, are you going to carve anything else into your skin tonight?"

Hope looked at her gauze covered wrist. "Not tonight."

"Good…are you staying up, darling?" Diane stood with a yawn. "Because I think I'll turn in."

"Yeah, I think I want to do some more reading," Hope said, grabbing her book of Blood Magick while Diane put away the kit.

"All right, try to get some sleep, though, won't you?" Diane added, tipping Hope's chin up.

"I'll try," Hope promised, smiling for the first time in a long time, and Diane dropped a kiss to the top of her head like Nath always did.

And it was only after she'd gone that Hope settled in the sitting room with a blanket curled around her, opening her book again.

She'd moved the drawing of her mother from Salazar Slytherin's journal to her book on Blood Magick. And Hope was determined to get an answer from the man himself.

"Are you working right now?" she asked when he answered the phone. "Because I can call back."

 _"I'm between shifts at the moment,"_ Nath hummed on the other end. _"Why, is something going on?"_

"No, its just…" Hope looked down at the sketch in her hands. "You dropped this picture a few months back of my mother and I just wanted to know why you had it."

 _"Of your—? Oh…oh, no,"_ Nath said quickly and emphatically. _"Dearest, that wasn't of your mother, that's Adel."_

His old girlfriend who'd died that tragic death, the one he could never get over losing. Hope looked at the picture dubiously. "But she looks just like my mum."

 _"Yeah, crazy how that happens sometimes."_ She could've sworn Nath was annoyed and bitter. _"But I can assure you, its Adel and she died before your mother was even born."_

Hope opened her mouth and paused, startled. Because Nath looked particularly ageless. "Exactly how old _are_ you?"

_"Don't you know its rude to ask a lady her age?"_

Hope rolled her eyes. "Hysterical, Nath."

He laughed on the other end. _"Are you doing better?"_

"I'm gonna pick a few fights when I go back to school," Hope replied conversationally.

 _"Well, I suppose that's one way to do it,"_ Nath mused.

"Miss Diane also gave me some antidepressants."

 _"That also helps,"_ Nath admitted. _"Just don't kill anyone. But if you do, call me and I'll come to Scotland to help you hide the body."_

Hope laughed, bright and warm. "Have a good shift, Nath."

 _"I will. Sleep well, dearest."_ So, Hope shut the phone to pull her book towards her, tracing over the shapes of the runes for 'protect' and 'attack' and 'burn' and the next thing she knew, she was waking up with a blanket wrapped around her and Diane's voice calling from the kitchen, _"Dean Morgan Thomas, if you don't stop singing Christmas carols, so help me—!"_

Hope couldn't help but smile.

(And maybe Diane scowled a bit fiercely when Hope unwrapped Nath's gift later, to find it was an abalone folding pocket knife, but she said nothing while Hope oohed and Dean wondered if it was any good to throw it.

"Not inside my house," was all that she'd said about it.)

* * *

Hope went back to school with two weeks' worth of antidepressants in her system and with a fire that Diane Thomas had ignited and the first thing she'd done was rig a prank on all of Hufflepuff House, dumping a jug of pumpkin juice on every head and roaring "Maybe you assholes should stop spreading rumors about people you don't know!"

And then decided to punch two more students in the face.

She got two weeks of detention, but it had been worth it to wipe the look off Ernie MacMillan's face. George had had to completely lift her off the ground to keep her from going back for seconds, while Fred howled beside him, roaring "Let her at him! Merlin, this is the most fun I've had in months!"

It made up for the fact that Ron and Hermione hadn't found anything out from Malfoy about the Heir of Slytherin, other than the fact that is was not him, which didn't really help them all that much, but it wasn't like there were anyone else more likely than Hope to be the Heir of Slytherin.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate homework?" Ron asked his friends as they lay in front of the fire one day in February. He had an old book open and was working diligently on an essay for Charms, while Hermione read through a book on Arithmancy and Hope skimmed through her book on Blood Magick.

(Neither had noticed the new scar she had on her wrist because she'd hidden it under a thick leather bracelet)

"Maybe once or twice," Hope said dryly, flipping through the pages with disinterest. "But you've been doing homework for a month now."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he grumbled mutinously, jutting out his chin in defiance.

"No one likes homework," Hope said in a dry sort of voice, "well, maybe Hermione does," she amended.

" _Hey!_ "

The other two sniggered lightly at the glare their brunette friend tossed their way.

It was a Saturday morning and most of the students were down in the Great Hall for an early lunch, but Hope and Hermione were up in the common room, waiting for Ron to finish so they could head down; the promise of food was a surprisingly good incentive for Ron to finish his paper, and soon, if that obvious stomach-growl was any indicator.

"Are you sure you don't know of any Slytherin relatives?" Hermione asked again, for what felt like the hundredth time to Hope.

Hope's eyes rolled up to the ceiling and stayed there. "Yes, Hermione, I've checked a _hundred_ times; there are no heirs to Slytherin attending Hogwarts, apart from me."

"I was so sure that it was Malfoy," Ron complained, not for the first time, as he slid the book shut and rolled up his parchment and headed out the portrait hole with Hope and Hermione by his side. "I guess that means we're back to square one."

"Not entirely," Hermione corrected. "We've still got the information that he gave us, and that's very helpful."

"But that's not much!" Ron complained. "All we know is that the attacks started about fifty years ago! Even if we could look at the student records from back then, we wouldn't have any idea where to start!"

"But the attacks stopped, didn't they?" Hope asked suddenly, having drifted off in thought momentarily.

"So?" Ron asked looking confused.

Hope snapped her fingers under his nose. "Think about it, Ron! Why would the attacks stop?"

Ron's ginger eyebrows creased together as he thought hard and then his eyes widened in realization. "You think the culprit was found, don't you?"

"And if the culprit was caught," Hermione continued on that line of thought, a beaming smile spreading across her face, "then the one who caught him was probably given an award to the school!"

Hope looked at them with fond eyes. "It's like we could be triplets."

Ron snorted and Hermione gave a small giggle, though both had to admit, they were pleased how she was acting now versus before break; she'd done a complete one-eighty.

"Oh, _shi—"_

Hope danced back suddenly, because at that moment, she had walked straight into a puddle of water. A puddle of water inside of Hogwarts…she hoped that didn't occur often. All three looked up, noticing that they'd accidentally made it down into the corridor where Mrs. Norris had been petrified, and the whole floor had been flooded.

"Moaning Myrtle," they all said as one.

Hope lifted up one dripped shoe, swearing under her breath. "I really liked these shoes…"

"What d'you suppose's upset her this time?" Ron asked, wincing at the frequency of the ghost's wails which were made worse by the tiles that caused the noise to echo and amplify.

"No idea." Hermione peeked her head inside of Myrtle's bathroom, motioning for the other two to follow her in, which they did, despite Hope's complaints about her shoes.

"Myrtle?" Hermione said gently, not wanting to freak out the quite obviously emotional ghost too much; no good ever came from that. "Are you alright?"

"Who's that?" she hiccupped between tremulous sobs that resounded loudly in the silence. "Come to throw something else at me?"

This time Hope frowned. "Someone threw something at you?" she asked. "Why?"

 _"DON'T ASK ME!"_ Myrtle bellowed, making the trio grip their ears quickly. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me!"

Ron's lips twitched slightly and he opened his mouth, no doubt to say something that could be construed as insensitive, but Hermione and Hope both elbowed him in the side, effectively silencing the boy.

"Who threw it at you?" Hermione asked, still using that gentle voice of hers.

"I don't know!" Myrtle sobbed morosely, looking far more piteous than Hope had ever seen her thus far. "I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head." Her transparent lower lip wobbled dangerously as she pointed off to the side. "It's over there, it got washed out."

Ron grabbed both of their arms before either of the girls could reach down to grab it. "Don't touch it! What if it's dangerous?"

But Hope couldn't see how a little black book could be dangerous at all; look at it! It wasn't as though a bunch of knives were going to shoot out of it and stab the person that happened to open it. She lifted it up, feeling almost as though it was alive…for a second she felt as if it was hers and that she had merely forgotten it or lost it, but that was impossible, Hope didn't own a diary, let alone one that dull and drab.

"It was bought fifty years ago," she noticed, tapping the inscription on the inside of the cover, "…by a T.M. Riddle…reckon he's worth checking out?"

"Probably," Hermione reasoned, "it means something if someone was trying to flush it…is there anything in it?"

Hope flipped through the wet pages. "If there was, the toilet water's washed it away."

"Let me try something."

Hope handed over the small book to Hermione who pulled out her wand and tapped a random page with her wand, saying very clearly, " _Aparecium!_ "

But nothing happened.

"It's probably just an empty diary," Ron said to Hermione, "we'd probably have better luck looking him up in the Trophy Room and see if he's the bloke we're looking for."

There was no point in refuting that fact, and the trio went and ate a hasty breakfast before making their way towards the Trophy Room.

Hope had never been inside this room, apart from the brief time the previous year when Malfoy had challenged her to a midnight duel that she hadn't been very keen on to start with, but she had never had the opportunity to admire it fully. It wasn't very impressive, she now realized in retrospect; it was almost as if a majority of the school forgot that there _was_ a Trophy Room.

There were a large number of glass cases, all practically completely filled with awards, trophies, cups, plates, shields, statues, and an assortment of medals.

"So…" Hope said, goggling slightly at the sheer number of trophies, "divide and conquer?"

So they split up to cover more ground and Hope found herself wandering around aimlessly, until—

"Found him!" Hermione said suddenly, waving them over to where she stood. "He's right here!"

"Medal for Magical Merit," Ron read aloud, "doesn't say what he got it for, though…"

"The headmaster probably didn't want anyone to draw attention to the incidents of that year," Hermione theorized, "it would be embarrassing to admit that the students under your protection had come under attack and you weren't able to do a thing about it."

Hope wondered if she was talking about the old headmaster or the present one.

* * *

" _Valentine's Day?!"_ Hope seethed on the morning of the Fourteenth of February, already in a bit of a bad mood. "What kind of _moron_ came up with _Valentine's Day?!"_

"Well—" Hermione opened her mouth to say which moron had indeed come up with it, but then she apparently changed her mind.

"Oh, it's _sickening!_ "

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with Valentine's Day," Angelina said dismissively, sliding into the seat next to Hermione, "it's what Lockhart's done that's really awful."

"I think it's cute!" Hermione said affronted as Alicia and Lee joined them, hand-in-hand.

"Everyone else thinks its revolting," Angelina added, "or at least a majority of the people here think that."

She wasn't wrong. A large number of people had frowns on their faces towards their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, who seemed to be basking in the glow of the pink atmosphere. Hope scowled furiously, bemoaning of what she'd done to deserve this life. The poor Great Hall had been decorated so extravagantly, and, understandably, it would have annoyed any decent person. Up and down the walls could be seen a large number of obnoxious bright and dark pink flowers, and there were _confetti_ , shaped like _hearts,_ falling from the _ceiling!_ And all the confetti were getting in the food…that would explain why Ron wasn't too happy. Imagine not being able to eat properly without accidentally chewing up paper as they did so.

"This has to be some sort of nightmare!" Hope said horrified as Hermione burst into giggles, gazing imploringly at Angelina. "Angie! Tell me this isn't real!"

"I'd like to say it wasn't," Angelina said, blowing the confetti from her plate before loading it with eggs and sausages, "but..." She shrugged. "There's only one thing to do in this kind of situation."

"And what's that?" Hope said glumly, poking at her confetti-encrusted bacon.

"Soldier on."

"I was hoping for something less…I don't know, proverbial," Ron said, resting his cheek on a fist, looking equally glum.

"Oh, cheer up!" Alicia giggled slightly; her cheeks still bright red from where Lee had kissed her not a minute ago. "It's only twenty-four hours! Then it'll be back to normal."

It took Hope about three more seconds of consideration before she gathered up her things once Ernie MacMillan entered the hall.

"Nope, sorry, can't do it," she said, "I'll see you lot in class."

Lee watched her go, frowning slightly. "What's up her knickers?"

" _LEE_!"

"What?" he said defensively. "It's an honest question!"

"We ran into Ernie MacMillan on the way here," Ron said thickly, swallowing a bit of confetti and gagging at the taste, "he wasn't too pleased to see Hope."

"Is he that Hufflepuff numpty George was complaining about?" Angelina asked with a frown. "The one that thought Hope was the next Dark Lady? The one that she punched in the face?"

"Which time?" Hermione and Ron asked as one, Ron snorting while Hermione was exasperated.

"But yeah," Ron agreed, "that's him. He makes these little snide comments every time he sees her, and Hope doesn't really respond to them well, its why she keeps ending up in detention."

"I can imagine."

Over at the Hufflepuff table, Ernie MacMillan felt his ears burning.

Hope sat down in her seat in the empty charms classroom, waiting for the class to begin, even though it wouldn't for another good ten minutes or so. She pulled out a book and began to read.

"Doesn't it get a bit boring?"

Hope jumped slightly at the sudden voice, looking up and into George's glittering eyes.

"Sometimes the quiet is calming," she said with a smile, "maybe you should try it sometime."

"Nah," George said, jumping slightly to situate himself on top of the desk table in front of Hope who raised an eyebrow. "That would be too boring."

"And heaven forbid being boring," Hope said with a grin, leaning back slightly, "it's not the worst fate in the world."

"Oh, I don't know," George said with a grin equal to hers, "sounds pretty bad."

She couldn't help the laughter that bubbled from her lips.

"Here," he added, "I got you something."

He was holding out a blue iris. Blue irises -well, irises in general- weren't shaped like flowers normally were, its petals drooping in some places and raised upwards in others, with lighter blue speckles patterning its deep blue color with yellow at its center.

The blue iris was her favorite flower, but she'd never told anyone that. She'd always liked them because of the transfigured burn on her shoulder, but it helped that it wasn't a typical flower, not like roses or lilies or tulips. It was just a bit different, like Hope.

"How did you know?" she said, completely stunned, taking the delicate looking flower from him in surprise. "How did you know this was my favorite flower?"

"Is it?" George asked, his voice lilting in a mixture of amusement and surprise. "I'll remember that next time."

Hope could feel her cheeks heating up slightly, and covered quickly by inhaling the flower. _So, there was going to be a next time..._

"When you were in St. Mungo's I went to visit you—"

"I know," Hope said quickly, "I saw the _Hobbit_ next to my bedside. I figured only you would read that to me while I was out of it."

"Only for you," George said with a smile edging faintly towards a smirk, "anyways, I saw a bit of blue on your shoulder, and one of the Healers said that you had a transfigured burn of sorts, into a blue iris...it means hope, did you know that?"

Hope's eyes glowed with mirth. "Yes, I did. I know an awful lot about my name, you know."

"That's always good," George said agreeably, "though I have to wonder how many times your name's been used as a pun."

"Oh, I stopped counting after awhile," Hope said with a wink. "It gets rather repetitive, you know."

"Don't worry," George said with a grin that worried her, "it could be worse."

"What's worse than having 'hope' or 'hoping' for the best or being 'hopeless'?"

He sniggered. "Okay, that's pretty bad...but at least your name isn't 'Dick'."

There was a brief moment of silence and then Hope was roaring with laughter, her laughter echoing loudly in the silence.

"You are a _horrible_ human being," she gasped out as the laughs subsided. "How does your mother deal with you and Fred? I'll never understand!"

"You don't need to understand," George said with a grin, "just sympathize. She raised two of the greatest pranksters in the history of Hogwarts."

"A bit cocky, aren't you?" she asked in amusement, bending the stalk of the iris so it wasn't quite so long and tucking it into her ponytail, the blue contrasting with the red.

"Better to be cocky than to lose your nerve," George said wisely, "being cocky has led to some of the greatest pranks in Hogwarts history."

"Uh-huh," Hope said arching an incredulous eyebrow. "That's just the cocky talking, I'd wager."

"Possibly." He leaned down suddenly and faster than she had time to think, blink, or even speak, he had pressed a light kiss to the hollow of her cheek and had jumped off the desk, leaving her dumbfounded as he called behind him, "See you around, Potter!"

One day, she swore, one day she was going to kill him, and she was going to enjoy it.

* * *

Hope would get no peace of mind once class had ended that very same day and she was getting ready for bed with the other three girls with whom she shared a dorm. Parvati and Lavender had been badgering her relentlessly and it was beginning to try on her nerves.

"That's so sweet!" Parvati and Lavender gushed as Hope finally relented told her dorm mates where the flower she had been wearing all day had come from.

"I wish a boy did that for me," Lavender moaned with longing, pulling her blankets up around her, "and the Weasley twins are so cute, too!"

That kind of talk miffed Hope, like it always had whenever the girls at her muggle school had talked about how cute boys were. George had a nice smile, she could make constellations out of his freckles, and if the sun hit him just right, his hair looked like it was on fire. But wasn't it better to be a steady hand helping her up a step, or an amused laugh when she pranked someone, or respectful of the boundaries Hope had built up over the years?

She didn't understand Fred and Angie's flirts until Ron had pointed out that George did that to her sometimes and she'd had to sit down for five minutes, too startled…because George didn't try nearly as hard as Fred did and when he sometimes sat next to Hope, he didn't throw an arm around her shoulder, leaning into her space like Fred did with Angie.

"I reckon you and George are cut from the same cloth," Ron had said to that. "Just a bit different to other people, its probably why you get along so well."

Hope still didn't know what that meant, and she couldn't help but scowl at Lavender and Parvati. Hermione hid a smile behind her book at the expression on Hope's face and couldn't help but add, "He gave you a kiss, didn't he, Hope? Right on the cheek?"

Hope glared darkly at her friend for her betrayal, her cheeks inflaming, making the two other girls burst into giggles once more and Hope had to draw her curtains around her bed in an effort to save herself from embarrassment, but it didn't work to well.

"Oh, go to bed, you idiots," she snapped from behind the curtains in a sniffy sort of voice. _"And stop theorizing about my love life,"_ she added, raising her voice slightly in annoyance. Or lack thereof.

She could still hear the giggling, but she chose to ignore them. She lay there, awake and in bed for quite some time, ever after the other three had dropped off to sleep. Hope just couldn't fall asleep; it wasn't an unusual feeling, though, as irritated as she was about it.

She gave a sigh of frustration after another ten minutes of wakefulness before finally throwing the blankets from her legs and thrusting open the curtains from her bed. Luckily, the movement didn't awaken her friends. She rubbed furiously at her face, annoyance tingeing her face.

It wasn't George, though he had been giving her butterflies in her stomach all term, and it wasn't the Blood-Soaked Tree. That particular nightmare hadn't plagued her in a few weeks, which meant she was sleeping a lot more than usual, an equally strange occurrence, as Dean was sleeping less.

Hope squashed a groan, rubbing at her eyes some more, her eyes falling on the little black book that belonged to T.M. Riddle. Her eyebrows creased together into an obvious frown. Sometimes she could swear she could hear a voice coming from within its pages, but that couldn't be, it was just a book.

Or was it?

She wrinkled her nose, finally making up her mind, grabbing it from the bedside table and making her way downstairs.

The common room had been empty for at least an hour by now. Books had been strewn carelessly about in the haste of last-minute studying. The fire still burned in the fireplace, the embers glowing softly in the dark, tossing a dappled glow upon the little diary where Hope held it in her hand. It looked slightly malevolent, but when Hope blinked, it had gone and she was left wondering what exactly she had even seen. She glared at it suspiciously, as if it was playing some sort of mind game with her, but it was just a book…wasn't it?

Hope grabbed the quill and ink from a nearby table, taking it back to where she settled onto the floor before the fire, propping open the diary, poising her quill tip over the page, a single drop falling onto the page as Hope considered what she should write, because, she felt she should write at least something (she wasn't sure why, though), but then something decidedly strange happened.

The drop that fell onto the page was instantly absorbed into the page, as if the page was a sponge. She flipped the page back and forth, but the absorbed ink hadn't gone through the page, it had gone into the book! But it couldn't have!

Hope creased the spine, searching for the ink that had disappeared, but there was no trace of it.

So, at long last, Hope touched the tip of her quill to the paper and began to write. _My name is Hope Potter and I don't know why I'm writing in this diary._

Those words disappeared as well, but then something happened that Hope did not anticipate; words began to appear on the page in someone else's scrawl directed towards her.

_Hello, Hope Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?_

You know you're in trouble when you start writing in a book that writes back to you. Maybe this was something that magical diaries could do? She frowned; she'd never heard of diaries doing that.

She eyed it suspiciously once more, but she couldn't resist writing a response.

_Someone chucked it into a toilet, must've been a terrible diary._

She had meant for the dairy to take offense, but it was a diary, what was it going do? Slam shut? However, much to her ire, the diary seemed to skate right over her biting response.

 _Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink._ Hope frowned…recording memories? Was that something that could be done? _But I always knew that there would be those who would not want this diary read._

And Hope felt an increase of suspicion at that comment. Something about this diary was very…off. Even touching it gave her an uncomfortable feeling…like it was dangerous and powerful -something deep inside her hissed _to keep away_ , that it was _unnatural_ -, but she couldn't really stop herself from asking.

 _Why?_ Hope's quill twitched between her fingers.

_I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Hope froze her quill where it was, unbridled shock completely encompassing her face. What were the chances of this? What were the chances of finding something that could possibly tell her just what she needed to know? This little diary might be able to tell her just what happened the first time the Chamber of Secrets opened! Excitement bubbled in her veins as she scrawled the next few words.

_That sounds exactly like what's going on right now. Were you there the first time the Chamber of Secrets was open?_

_Of course I was,_ the diary responded, and Hope thought it sounded a trifle bit smug. _I was the one who caught the person who'd opened the Chamber but not until a student had been killed by the creature. I was warned against speaking the truth of that night and was given a nice medal for my silence, but the creature lived on._

 _Do you know who opened the Chamber last time?_ Hope wrote, feverish with the desire for the truth.

_Yes._

Hope was now giddy with excitement. _Can you tell me?_

_No._

Irritated, Hope cast a frown at the pages as she would have done so if it had been a real person she had disagreed with, but then five words appeared that made her change her mind about it.

_But I can show you._

What happened next, Hope couldn't quite recall even minutes later, she just knew that she had felt was a feeling much like falling and then she had opened her eyes to find herself not in the Gryffindor common room at all, but what must've been the headmaster's office, though she herself had never been inside.

She gazed around in a bit of wonderment, staring up at all the portraits when she tripped and fell backwards…right through the headmaster's desk.

Her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as she sat up, struggling to her feet before pressing a hand against the hard wood of the desk, but it was no good; her hand sank right through!

"What the—?" Hope goggled slightly as she removed her hand and repeated the process over and over again, in a bit of shock.

And the man sitting at the desk, reading a letter by candlelight was most certainly not Dumbledore. "What the—?" Could it be a memory, then? Riddle's memories inside a diary?

Hope knew it sounded ludicrous, but day just got stranger when there was a knock at the door, so Hope settled in for the ride.

* * *

"Professor Flitwick?"

The aged Charms professor lifted his gaze from the parchments on his deck to give his full attention to possibly one of the most inquisitive students he had ever had the joy to teach. The same could be said for her two friends, only with varying degrees and with looks not quite as intense as Hope's.

"Yes, Miss Potter?" he asked kindly.

"I was wondering," she said carefully, in a tone like she was hoping he'd settle an argument between her and her friends, "if it was possible to implant memories into an object…say a diary?"

It was a curious question, Professor Flitwick had to admit, and he had to wonder what had inspired the question in the first place, but he conceded to answer it anyways.

"The only thing that is capable of holding memories, Miss Potter, is a Pensieve," he said, "a simple book does not have the magical capabilities of holding the magic of memory."

"And a Pensieve is…" Hope asked, canting her head slightly to the side, unfamiliar with the term.

"They are shallow stone basins," he said, "very few in number and always carved with runes to keep the memories intact and to preserve them whilst they are in the basin."

Hope screwed up her face slightly (he doubted that she noticed her hair had lightened to a soft orange) but then she grinned. "Thanks, Professor!"

Professor Flitwick watched bemused as Hope raced back to her friends with barely a limp.

"So?" Hermione pressed as Hope caught up with them. "What did he say?"

"He says that a diary shouldn't be capable of holding memories," Hope said stoutly as they leapt up the stairs, making for the left-hand staircase that would take them down to the Herbology Greenhouses. "So, I want to know how it could."

"Could it be…you know," Ron glanced around to check if anyone was listening in on their conversation, " _Dark magic?"_

Both girls wore identical frowns at that, both considering the possibility.

"Well…" Hermione said, half-contemplative, half-nervous, "I suppose, there is a possibility…"

"I'm not quite sure," Hope said, even if it made her uncomfortable, it hadn't actually done anything to her. "I mean, it's not like it tried to kill me or anything—"

"They don't have to kill you," Ron said, sounding surprisingly grim, "they only have to have you completely obsessed with them and you're as good as gone."

All three fell silent at that comment; Ron would know more about the subject, no doubt his father had dealt with countless items enchanted by Dark magic.

"Well," Hermione said once more, "how could a memory be bad?"

"Depends on whose memory it is," Hope mused before raising her voice slightly, "Oi! What're you two up to?"

She was of course speaking to Fred and George who could be seen huddled closely together, whispering feverishly back and forth. Hope was instantly suspicious, as she always was with them.

"Nothing!" the twins sang in unison, with identical innocent smiles on their faces that weren't actually innocent at all.

"Run along, underlings!" Fred added with a wink.

"I'd stay away from the pudding at dinner," George added with a wink as well and Hope narrowed her eyes.

"They're _impossible_!" Hermione bemoaned.

Hope gave a small shrug, an amused smile on her face as always with George. "I think they're brilliant."

"You would," Ron said glumly, resigned to his fate.

"Besides," Hope continued, ignoring Ron as she did so, "you can't really think that Hagrid's actually a killer?"

"No," Ron and Hermione said quickly, with Ron adding, "but you have to admit that he does have a fascination with dangerous creatures. It wouldn't be hard to imagine him having a creature like that under his wing."

"Yeah," Hermione couldn't help but agree, "but we're talking about a creature that killed someone, Ron! You can't think that Hagrid would keep something like that!"

"Er…maybe we should talk about something else?" Hope suggested a little meekly, attempting to keep another fight from breaking out between the two. "Like…what classes are you two wanting to take for next year?"

The change of subject evaporated the tension that had appeared between the ginger and brunette.

"Oh, I don't know!" Hermione cried. "They all look so interesting that I can't make up my mind on any two of them!"

Hope gave her a sheepish smile and a half shrug that told Hermione that she was in the same boat. "I can only settle on four. Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination." Obviously, Ancient Runes was at the top of her list, being one of the subjects that was quite a bit like the hieroglyphics she'd read about, but Divination and Care of Magical Creatures both sounded very interesting. Arithmancy sounded a lot like math, which Hope hadn't been all that bad at, and it sounded like it was used in spell creation, which was very interesting. And Muggle Studies sounded quite boring, especially to those who had grown up in the Muggle world, except for a select few, who, like Hermione, wanted to see the Wizarding point of view of Muggles.

"Just Care of Magical Creatures and Divination for me," Ron piped up as they rounded the corner.

"You only want to take those ones because they're blow-off classes," Hermione grumbled in disapproval as she pushed open the door to the greenhouse, putting her things in her cubby hole by the wall next to where Ron and Hope's things were designated to go.

Herbology classes were quickly becoming one of Hope's least favorite classes. They would have been your least favorite class if the other half of it were intent on avoiding you, insulting you, and glaring at you like you were some sort of villain who had killed the hero of the story. And they really didn't appreciate Hope getting into fights with their fellows, but even if Hope spent the rest of term in detention, she didn't care.

So, Hope opted to shred her Fluxweed in silence, pretending like none of them were there.

"Miss Potter? Class has ended."

Hope blinked, looking up startled and into the earthy brown eyes of Professor Sprout. "Huh?"

"The class, Miss Potter," the stout woman said gently, peeling the silver knife from Hope's grip as if she thought she might use it as some sort of weapon, "it has ended."

"Oh," Hope said, a bit on the quiet side, "sorry…guess I got lost in my thoughts."

Hope glanced past her shoulder to see where the Mandrakes were rummaging about in their dirt-filled pots. "How long until they're ready?"

Professor Sprout followed her gaze and smiled. "The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature," she said brightly. "Then we'll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing." She patted her shoulder gently. "Don't you worry about a thing. Now run along."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're starting to get really spacey," Ron said when she rejoined them for the second time that day, "you're starting to over-think things."

"Heaven forbid," Hope sniped back, a frown creasing her forehead as Lavender raced up to her, out of breath, her golden-brown curls swinging with every movement.

"Hope!" she gasped once she had regained her breath. "You'd better come—the dorm—we don't know how it happened—"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione and Hope said as one, completely flummoxed.

"The dorm!" Lavender said, stabbing a finger in the direction of the Gryffindor dorms. "It's been ransacked!"

_"What?!"_

Ransacked was a surprisingly mild term to describe how utterly demolished the dorm was when Lavender, Hope, and Hermione finally raced up the stairs to meet a slightly shocked Parvati. Mattresses had been overturned, books thrown everywhere, clothes tossed from their dressers. Everyone's things were thrown about, but Hope's had taken the brunt of the ruin, and it took them a good while for the four of them to get the room into order once more.

"Who would do this?" Parvati asked as she held out a stack of Hope's rare books as she replaced them gingerly in the section of her trunk for the books.

"No idea," Hope said, keeping her head down as she mentally listed off everything she owned and everything she'd found. There was only one thing that remained missing.

"What is it?" Hermione whispered once Lavender and Parvati had gone.

"It's Tom Riddle's diary," she hissed back, "that's what they were looking for, and they found it."

Worry lined Hermione's face. "But," she said faintly, "it couldn't have been someone outside of Gryffindor, no one else knows our password."

Hope bit her lip, avoiding saying what she knew that they were both thinking about. It was time to entertain the possibility that the person who had caused the chaos was from Gryffindor House.

* * *

"Are you still awake?"

"Yeah."

Hope leaned over the couch that she was sprawled on (having won the game of Rock-Paper-Scissors that allowed her to sleep on it) to look at Hermione. The four of them had reported the incident to Professor McGonagall, who had had the dorm thoroughly searched and checked for spells, but she had come up empty. Still, she had asked the girls to kip in the common room for the night just to be sure.

"Can't sleep?" Hermione murmured lightly so as not to awaken their companions.

"Something like that," Hope mumbled lightly. "Tomorrow's the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff game, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Only everyone knew that. Oliver Wood had been positively raving about for the past month or so. Obviously, he was very excited about it. "Pre-game jitters?"

Hope's thoughts dwelled on Dean's tight grip on her arm, his worried eyes, the crescents carved beneath them from so many sleepless nights. "I saw you die," he'd hissed in a dark corner beyond the Transfiguration room and Hope had balked. "Worse than the Blood-Soaked Tree. I watched you die. Please, please be careful."

Hope had been so startled, but the Blood-Soaked Tree wasn't even real. It was a nightmare of epic proportions and Hope couldn't quite convey. Dean was the only one who really got it, and Dean was the one who'd looked like he was breaking apart instead.

So Hope said she would, even if she didn't quite believe it.

"Just a little bit," Hope muttered. "I mean, the Hufflepuffs have been giving me problems for months."

Hermione sighed lightly. "You know, one day you and the MacMillan boy are going to have to make up."

Hope hadn't punched him recently, but there was always the hope that he'd try to pick another fight and give her the excuse. "I have a long memory," she replied stoutly, rolling away from Hermione, the material of her sleep shirt pulled tight across her back, a pale blue outline bleeding through her shirt, illuminated by the firelight. Hermione frowned slightly at it; it wasn't a tattoo, was it?

"Go to sleep, Hermione," Hope proclaimed in a tired, muffled voice. "You've got a worse attitude than me when you don't sleep well the night before."

Hermione's cheeks attained a healthy bit of color at that comment and she opened her mouth affronted to whisper heatedly, "I do _not!"_

The low chuckle she got in return was enough for her to know that she was forgiven for asking such a personal question, if she had even taken offense in the first place.

And that night, Hope dreamed about a castle bathed in darkness in a world devoid of life and seven locks on the massive double doors, and she awoke with a scream echoing in her ears.

* * *

Hermione and Ron decided to walk out with Hope to the pitch, both looking a bit concerned.

"Will you be alright today?" Ron asked as they made their way down the staircase. "I mean, you are playing Hufflepuff…they aren't really a fan of you right now."

"Big surprise," Hope grunted. "Just because they're acting like a bunch of—" She called them something that made Ron snigger and Hermione look scandalized "—doesn't mean that I'm going to throw the match just to make them happ…" She words trailed off as she came to a stop, a blissfully blank expression on her face.

"What is it?" Hermione asked in confusion only to be shushed frantically as Hope listened intently to that murderous voice that had been silent for so long, finally speaking for the first time that she had heard it in months.

" _Kill this time…let me rip…tear…"_

The voice still sent shivers down her spine as it had the first time she'd heard it.

"There it is!" she said. "The voice! Its back! Can't you hear it?"

But like the other times, Hermione and Ron were oblivious to it. Hope wasn't sure who was in a better position; her for hearing it or them being free to not.

And then a look of realization dawned on Hermione, her epiphany making her whole face seem brighter. "Hope! I think I know! I've got to go to the library! I'll meet you at the pitch!" She gave her friend a firm hug and raced up the stairs faster than Hope or Ron could say "Wait!"

Hope could've sworn she'd seen Dean cast a look her way before following Hermione, but she couldn't be sure at that distance.

"One day," Ron grumbled, "she's going to have to tell us everything upfront."

Hope gave a light snort. "Yeah, like that'll happen." When pigs fly, as the saying went. "What's she hoping to find in the library?"

"No idea," Ron said with a deep sigh. "But you know Hermione."

Hope hummed in agreement, balancing her broom on her shoulder as they finally made their way out onto the field with Ron branching off to save him and Hermione a good seat and Hope heading towards the Gryffindor changing rooms.

"Ready to kick some yellow-and-black butt?" Alicia asked with a grin as she entered, using her teeth to tighten the arm guards onto her arms as a substitute for her other hand.

Hope raised an eyebrow. "I suppose…do you need any help with that, Leesh?"

"I got this," the older girl said around the leather string used to tie the guard to her arm. "No worries-been doing this for years."

"Uh-huh…"

Hope pulled her red and gold robes over her body, tying the assortment of ties, doing a much better job than Alicia, if the huff of annoyance was anything to go by. But all the girls made it out onto the field in record time, only to be met with Professor McGonagall's voice blaring out across the pitch.

"This match has been cancelled!"

"Can you cancel Quidditch matches?" Hope muttered to the other three.

"I don't think it's ever been done before," Katie admitted, "but there's a first time for everything, I suppose."

"All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!" Though it seemed that Professor McGonagall had tried to keep her voice calm, the last few of her words were slightly higher than the rest, betraying her worry.

"Potter, I think you'd better come with me," she said to the girl whose hands tightened over her broom, as if the feel of the smoothly carved wood under her palm could comfort her.

"I didn't do it!" she hissed angrily, the red of her hair turning absolutely fiery. "Whatever you think I did, it wasn't me!"

"What's going on?" Ron demanded as he came to a halt before the rest of the team and the professor.

"Where's Hermione?" were the first words out of Hope's mouth. Surely their brunette friend would have joined him by now? She hadn't been intending to take long, Hope knew that; she should have been back by now.

Professor McGonagall seemed to be a bit at a loss. "The pair of you better come with me."

"What? Why?" Hope's eyes were becoming frantic, glancing feverishly beyond McGonagall as if hoping to see her there. "Where is she? Where's Hermione?!"

"She's not—?" Ron asked, his voice choking slightly, his face pale. "She couldn't be…"

"Weasley, Potter," Professor McGonagall said firmly, "please come with me."

Hope and Ron followed her numbly, leaving behind her teammates in a flurry of worry. The trek up the stairs to the hospital wing felt much longer than it should have and Hope and Ron rushed ahead of the Transfiguration professor, skidding on the stone as she halted suddenly. "I'm afraid there's been a triple attack."

Hope's heart turned to stone in her chest.

There was an unknown girl in the first bed, but in the next two—

" _Dean,_ " Hope whimpered, " _Hermione."_

They were just as stiff and frozen, Dean reaching a hand out as if to stall someone or something, while Hermione's was curled slightly like she was holding something when she'd been petrified. Hope stood there, swaying as Ron rushed to Hermione's side, staring into Dean's blank and empty eyes, and Hope could hardly bear to look at them.

She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt a wetness trailing down her cheeks.

* * *

"Follow the spiders? Tell me you're not thinking about doing this?!" Ron squeaked, his voice pitching a bit higher than he intended and fading out completely.

" _Look_ ," Hope snapped, tucking her cloak away in the corner by the fireplace, lifting the heavy wrought-iron lantern with one hand, "we need answers and now that Hagrid's gone, our best bet is following what he said. So yeah, following the spiders sounds like a great plan." Without Hagrid to explain, they needed to get their answers from somewhere and Hope refused to sit around waiting for another attack.

Ron whimpered softly, gripping his now Spell-o-Taped wand (as he'd lost his temper trying to work on his Transfiguration homework not several hours earlier and had slammed the wand down too hard, resulting in the tip breaking off and Ron's subsequent horror). "But-"

"Hermione saw something we missed," Hope bit out, "it's our job to figure out the last pieces of the puzzle. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

Ron glanced mournfully back towards the castle and safety itself, but his loyalty to his friends was something else, Hope had to admit as she watched him gather himself and nod resolutely. There was no point in going against Hope, either way; she was too headstrong to back down from whatever she put her mind to.

"Hold this." She thrust the lantern at him and withdrew her own wand, holding it aloft, training her eyes to the ground, finding what she was looking for in a matter of seconds. "There they are!"

The small spiders were scurrying towards the forest in a hurry, much like the ones that they had seen exiting the castle through the window by Moaning Myrtle's bathroom all those months ago. She could hear Ron's whimper at the sight of them, but she ignored that too, striding into the forest without looking back. The forest was as fearsome and terrifying as it had been the last time she had been in it, and she had hoped to not have a repeat of those events; however desperate times called for desperate measures.

The roots were as twisted as the trees, protruding from the earth as though they were diseased. The air was damp, much like the earth itself and Hope could feel her shoes sinking into the ground with every step, but a little mud wasn't going to stop her from her from finding out the truth.

The number of spiders was growing, all converging into a small tunnel that was just tall enough that Hope and Ron could make their way through it without having to bend down. Ron was now holding her hand painfully tight, but it wasn't like she was going to be able to shake him off.

Hope felt uncomfortably like she'd stepped over some invisible boundary into someone else's territory; a shiver ran down her spine and she could practically feel the temperature dropping. Hope and Ron stepped out from the tunnel and into a clearing that would have been mistaken for being empty, if the scuttling sounds weren't quite so obvious.

"We're in so much trouble!" Ron gasped, but Hope shushed him, listening intently for the things that were making the noises. Hope cupped Ron's elbow, forcing him to lift the lantern higher, to spread out a fan of light over the forest floor, and that was when they saw it.

The spiders they had originally followed had been small in size, but these ones…she gulped. These ones were _much bigger_. Some were the size of small dogs, but some were larger, _much larger_. Ron was mouthing wordlessly by her side, his face a mask of horror.

"Aragog!" the spiders cried, clicking their pincers so the words sounded a bit like an applause, only much, _much_ creepier. "Aragog!"

It must have been a name, and the next second, Hope and Ron stumbled backwards because out of the darkness a spider had appeared, dwarfing the largest spiders they'd seen yet by a great deal. Even Hope, who didn't have a fear of spiders, felt a bit of fear at its massive size.

"What is it?" the massive spider that must have been Aragog called to the spider that had spoken. It was then that Hope noticed his eyes. They were a milky white, gazing around unseeing. Hope had to fight a gasp when they landed on her before moving away once more.

She could understand now why Ron was so scared of them. Hope was impressed with her ability to not piss her pants at the sight of them.

"Men," the spider hissed.

"Is it Hagrid?" Aragog rumbled.

"Strangers," a different spider hissed, making Ron jump and clutch Hope like a life line. At this point, she wasn't going to have any feeling left in the left side of her body.

"Kill them," Aragog said in a voice that made Hope wonder just how many times the spider had said those same words before. "I was sleeping…"

"Wait!" she yelled, attempting to get his attention and moving away from the other spiders at the same time. " _Wait!_ We're friends of Hagrid's! He's the one who sent us in here to find you!"

This new information made the spider temporarily freeze in its tracks.

"Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before," he said, his voice slow and ancient and Hope had to bite down the urge to correct him of her gender.

"Yeah, well, Hagrid didn't really have any other choice, now did he?" Hope said with a touch of sarcasm, unable to help herself.

A few of the closest spiders hissed at her lack of respect.

"What do you mean?" the spider queried.

"Hagrid's been taken away," she said, gaining confidence knowing that he was going to listen to her now, "they think that he's the one behind these attacks that have been happening at the school. They've taken him to a place called As-Azkaban."

This seemed to anger every spider in the clearing, including Aragog who clicked his pincers malevolently.

"But that was years ago," Aragog said, his tone now regretful, as though he knew what it was that they were looking for. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that _I_ was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free."

So, that meant he was out as the possible creature within the chamber…he would have had a hell of a time getting into the castle unseen with that large body of his, not to mention the blindness.

"The monster," she said slowly, "did you ever see it?"

"No." Was it just Hope, or did it sound like Aragog had a tremor in his voice? "It is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others."

Ron was beginning to tug frantically on her arm, as if fighting the desire to run towards the exit. The spiders rustled around them, making Hope grip her wand so tightly that she was almost sure that the wood would break under her hand. Could spiders eat humans? Hope didn't really want to find out.

"Er, well, thank you," Hope said a bit more meekly than she intended, "so, er, we'll be leaving now…" She gulped slightly as they closed in slightly around them. "We'll just go and give this information to our headmaster…and he'll try to get Hagrid released." They didn't need to know that Dumbledore wasn't around right now.

And before Aragog could say anything else, Hope had yanked Ron back and through the thicket of trees, barely stopping once they'd reached Hagrid's hut to grab her invisibility cloak, before racing back to the castle with hardly a word being spoken, only stopping once they'd reached the common room and had become fairly out of breath.

"They were going to _eat us!_ " Ron squeaked in between pants. "Hagrid sent us to be _eaten_ , that's what he did!"

Hope rolled her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. "Oh, don't be dramatic, Ron, we got what we wanted, we know Hagrid's innocent."

" _Innocent_!" Ron scoffed. "Yeah, because someone who was innocent would send us to our deaths!"

Way to be overdramatic.

"I think I'm going to go and pass out in my bed," Ron said in a weak sort of voice as he stood shakily, "and if I see another spider again, it'll be _too soon."_

Hope gave him the barest of smiles. "Imagine if I hadn't thought up some sort of excuse for us to live."

Ron shivered. "Don't even get me started on that," he bemoaned, "I don't even want to think about it."

A smirk wormed its way onto Hope's lips. "Goodnight, Ron, don't let the spiders bite."

The glare he tossed her lacked any real fire, but she got the message well enough. "All right, all right."

She waved him off, curling her body up by the fire, swathing her body in the blankets that were thrown over the couch.

"Do you ever sleep?"

Hope jumped strongly at the sudden new voice, twisting her head around so fast that she was sure her hair had given her whiplash.

"George!" she complained, placing a hand over her frantically beating heart. "Do you have to do that?"

"It brings me great joy to freak you out," the Weasley twin said dryly as he plopped down onto the seat beside her. "But seriously, how are you doing?"

She and Ron had been remarkably quiet since Hermione and Dean had been petrified, but George thought the loss of Dean had done more to Hope. Even if they weren't together all the time, they were remarkably alike and they'd spent the holiday together…it would've been like if Ron had gotten petrified.

The flames cast a soft glow onto her face, making her fatigue more obvious. "I'm fine," she said tiredly. "I don't know why everyone keeps asking me—"

"Because we've barely heard you speak at all since Hermione and…" George trailed off suddenly at the glare she gave him.

"They're my friends," Hope snapped, "of course I'm upset! Wouldn't you be?"

"Hope." The way he said her name sent a tingle down her spine and her hand felt warm where he reached over to squeeze it. She could feel a steady thrum in her stomach that had nothing to do with being sick. "It's all right."

Hope frowned, looking away from him and heaving a sigh. "I just keep thinking about how pissed his mum's gonna be when she finds out what happened…and Hermione's going to be pulling out her hair when she realizes how much school she's missed…"

George cracked a smile at that comment. "Yeah, a bit mad about school, that one."

A small chuckle escaped her. "She'll kill me if I don't take proper notes."

"Don't worry," George consoled with a slight grin, "I'll save you." He faltered slightly. "I mean, um, if you feel like you need me to."

Hope's mouth twitched faintly. "I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

When Madam Pomfrey strode into the hospital wing one morning, she had to give a small cry of alarm because she now had six students in the wing instead of four.

Hope Potter had dragged one of the hospital chairs so that it was between Dean and Hermione's beds, her arms around her knees and her hair a pitch-black curtain hiding her face from view. Ron Weasley had commandeered a chair as well, only on Hermione's opposite side. His face was clear to see with his shoulders slumped slightly and his cheek resting on his hand, his lips barely ajar enough for a rather audible snore to sneak through. Madam Pomfrey's eyes softened slightly as she looked at the three of them.

It was like looking through a mirror and into the past. Hope had picked up a few friends that mirrored the relationship that her father had had when he was growing up.

Obviously, Hope was James, the ring leader with his clever tongue that could sometimes get her out of trouble, given the right circumstances, though rarely these days. Then there was Hermione, who was the Remus Lupin of the trio, mad about studying and always getting after her friends to do the same. And then there was Ron, who was (unfortunately) the Sirius Black of the crew, the one Hope was hardly seen without, the one who was lazy but loyal (at least, it had seemed he had been loyal…at the time). It put a frown on her face to know that there was no Peter Pettigrew, for she was certain she would prefer a squirrely friend in the place of one whom could possibly betray the others.

But she was getting too ahead of herself, and as Hope said, she was not her parents. She could understand why she got so irritated with everyone else for bringing it up; it must be aggravating.

Ron Weasley wasn't Sirius Black.

Hermione Granger wasn't Remus Lupin.

Hope Potter wasn't James Potter.

Hope was Hope. Hermione was Hermione. Ron was Ron. Madam Pomfrey couldn't help but admonish herself for looking for parallels when there were none. That was Professor Dumbledore's job.

Hope's black waterfall of ink colored hair shifted slightly and Madam Pomfrey heard the tell-tale signs of someone breathing in rather deeply.

"Miss Potter?"

Hope's head jerked up suddenly, glaring blearily at the person who had said her name. "Wha?" she said muzzily, rubbing at the side of her eye with the flared hem of her sleeve. "S'meone say m'name?"

Madam Pomfrey gave her a small but relieved smile. "It's just me, Hope," the Matron said in a comforting voice. "Perhaps you want to tell me what you and Mr. Weasley are doing here?"

Hope's eyebrow twitched as she gave her an expression that said, "You already know why, so why are you asking?"

But Madam Pomfrey wouldn't budge, so Hope finally sighed and said, "We came to visit Hermione, happy?"

"Immensely," Madam Pomfrey said dryly, "now wake up Mr. Weasley so I can get you back to your common room before Minerva comes to take you all to breakfast.

Hope tossed her a look of surprise; she had honestly been expected to be turned in, but, she supposed wryly, that Madam Pomfrey had a soft spot for her most frequent patient.

Ron complained a bit when he awoke, but Hope informed him that if he didn't want to wake up so early, then he shouldn't have snuck out with her in the first place, earning a glare.

Madam Pomfrey looked away when they both gripped Hermione's hands tightly, whispering words that she couldn't hear but could garner the general message: "Wake up soon." And then Hope gave Dean's frozen body a quick hug, leaning back to rub at her eyes in a way that had nothing to do with sleep, following after Madam Pomfrey as she led the way out.

* * *

The tension was still thick in the air at breakfast that day and Hope and Ron ate in silence, much like the rest of the hall. The only sounds that could be heard were the scraping of plates and utensils and the quiet thrum of whispers. The whispers weren't that loud separately, but when you put together just how many people were whispering, it came off as rather loud, but none of the presiding professors mentioned it.

"Hope."

Hope raised her head slightly to indicate that she was listening, twisting her spoon back and forth in her porridge as Ron whispered to her across from the table.

"Do you think there are going to be any more attacks?"

Hope's lips curved downwards into a frown. "Without Dumbledore around? Probably. The teachers are worried, just look at them."

"And no one else knows anything about the Chamber of Secrets," Ron grumbled under his breath, before giving Hope his full attention, because her eyes had shifted to the wood of the table, her eyebrows creased together in deep thought. "What is it?"

"All right, we know that the attacks first started and stopped about fifty years back," Hope said, reviewing all that they had learned, "that the attacks were caused by some sort of monster that can't be seen and causes spiders to fear, and we know that the monster killed a girl fifty years ago."

"Yeah?" Ron said, not quite following.

"What if she became a ghost after her death?" Hope asked, pushing her half-eaten food aside. "Because she died here? What if she was still _young_ when she died?"

"You have got to be kidding me?" Ron breathed. " _Moaning Myrtle_? No way."

"But just talking to her would be a pain," Hope muttered to herself, "we need to find which beast it was that Hermione was looking for…she was in the Magical Beasts section of the library but that doesn't really narrow it down much…"

"Why am I sensing that we're going to have another midnight adventure to the library?" Ron asked dryly.

"Do you have a better plan?" Hope retorted, but, unfortunately, he did not, and so, after everyone had gone to sleep, Hope pulled out her invisibility cloak for the second time that week and they snuck out of the common room once more. The number of patrols had increased since Dumbledore's removal and since Hermione, Dean, and Penelope Clearwater's (the girl who had been petrified along with their friend, one of the prefects of Ravenclaw) attack, and dodging around a number of professors proved to be quite difficult. Ron almost tripped in front of Professor Flitwick and Hope skidded slightly on the floor in front of the stern-faced Professor Vector, the Professor of Arithmancy. Luckily, the noise they made was only a small amount, so they went unnoticed for the time being.

Hope opened the first book she could find which dealt with creatures of the water, including: Merpeople, Kelpies, Ramora, River Trolls, and Kappas. However, none of the creatures matched any of the information that they had.

"Maybe we should stick to creatures that can walk on land," Ron hissed to her, his voice echoing slightly in the silence. "It can't be something that would die without water."

Hope hummed in agreement, handing over the lit tip of her want to Ron once more as she replaced the book and grabbed another one. _Serpentine Critters_ …

"A snake?" Ron asked in surprise, "…wait that would make a lot of sense—"

"Shit!" Hope swore, glancing out of the window. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, painting a sliver of orange across the sky. "We're running out of time…" She feverishly flipped through the pages, but it was no use, the professors would be coming to get each of the houses soon. "We'll just have to slip away later."

Later just happened to be after Defense Against the Dark Arts had concluded. Lockhart had been growing increasingly arrogant as the lesson had worn on, and had been so for the past few days since Hagrid's arrest and Dumbledore's dismissal. Ron found his attitude draining and Hope found the man to be entirely too irritating; she was restraining herself from throttling him but not very well. But, luckily, the man was an idiot, so Hope and Ron used that to their advantage, making sure that they were the last ones to leave the class, moving at a much slower rate and slipping away once all of the other students and professor had their attention focused entirely forwards.

Unfortunately, this was where Hope and Ron's plan went south. Though Hope had taken to carrying her invisibility cloak around, she hadn't had enough time to pull it out when they happened upon Professor McGonagall.

"Potter! Weasley!" she snapped, her voice sounding much more strained than usual, no doubt to the enormous amount of pressure that had been placed on her as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. "What are you doing?"

Ron stammered, but Professor McGonagall's eyes had gone to Hope, as she was every bit the leader of the group as her father had been with his group of friends. Both Hope's and Ron's eyes were red, whether it be from crying or lack of sleep, she did not know (she had no way of knowing that the pair hadn't slept in more than a day), giving them the most affected profile she'd seen of the friends of the students who had been petrified.

"We were—"

"—going to see Hermione and Dean," Hope blurted out, saying the first thing that had come to mind, her thoughts happening to rest on the morning the day before yesterday when they had spent the night in the hospital wing. Hermione and Dean were one of the few things on her mind these days, and it just fueled her determination towards finding out what had rendered them to such a state.

Ron's face would give away the lie if Hope didn't talk fast, so she steeled herself, trying to make her sound as convincing as possible.

"It's just," she started, "we wanted to give them the good news, tell them the Mandrakes were ready and everything…Hermione hates not knowing about things, so…" she waved her hands helplessly by her sides. It wasn't really a lie, now that Hope thought about it; she did have a habit of talking to people when they weren't listening, and that helped it sound more believable.

Professor McGonagall's eyes shone, suppressed tears glinting there, surprising Hope slightly, but then she'd always thought the tough-but-fair woman had a soft spot for the three of them, just like she did with Fred and George (because, let's face it, no one else would be so lenient with their pranks).

"Of course," she choked out. "Of course, I realize this has all been hardest on the friends of those who have been…" She had to collect herself momentarily before speaking once more. "I quite understand. Yes, Potter, of course you may visit Miss Granger. I will inform Professor Binns where you've gone. Tell Madam Pomfrey I have given my permission."

By the time they sat down beside Hermione and Dean once more, Hope was regretting using her friends as their excuse. Just looking at how stiff and rigid their bodies was, how glassy their eyes were…it brewed a dark anger inside of her. And then there was the fact that they wouldn't be able to make it to the library unseen, even with Hope's invisibility cloak folded under her robes. And make no mistake, Madam Pomfrey would notice their absence.

"Maybe the monster's dead," Ron said hopefully across from her, "maybe the attacks have stopped because it did?"

"No…" Hope frowned slightly, "it's much too clever, think about it; the only attacks have occurred in places that are almost always unoccupied—"

"The library's unoccupied?" Ron asked skeptically.

"During a _Quidditch match?"_ Hope asked rhetorically. "You bet. It targeted places that had two or less students in the vicinity…" Her eyes drifted slightly. "Or maybe that was just a coincidence? Maybe the monster didn't know that those places would be next to deserted?"

"Maybe," Ron shrugged, "but I guess we'll never know, will we?"

Hope sighed again. "At least the Mandrake Draught will be administered soon…tomorrow, was it?"

"Yeah." Ron yawned widely, barely making an attempt to cover it with his fist. "Hard to believe we've been awake for two straight days."

"Yeah," Hope agreed, "but then, remember when I was obsessed with that mirror? I was awake for longer."

Ron and Hope grimaced identically. That mirror was more trouble than it was worth; as expected of a creation of Salazar Slytherin himself.

Hope exhaled audibly as she squeezed her hand tightly around Hermione's clenched one, and that was when she noticed it. Something flimsy and crumpled had brushed against her hand. She bent her head close to see what it was that Hermione had been holding when she was attacked.

"What is it?" Ron whispered, noticing the curiosity on her face.

"I think Hermione found something," Hope said lowly, mindful of Madam Pomfrey in her office, "let me try for a second…"

It would have been easier had Hermione not been gripping the paper quite so tightly, but it was also good that she hadn't dropped it before now. Hope leaned in much closer, peeling the parchment as gently as she could from Hermione's stone-like hand, unfolding it just as gingerly.

"What's it say?" Ron whispered lowly watching as Hope's mouth dropped open, betraying her shock. A Basilisk! _Of course!_ A green serpent that could be fifty feet long once mature with venomous fangs and a stare that could kill you from looking it straight in the eye. Everything fit, except for…

Hermione's tidy scrawl clearly said _Pipes_.

"Pipes!" Ron said faintly. "No wonder you thought it could move through walls! It was using the plumbing!"

"And what if—" Hope continued. "What if the pipes started at-"

" _Moaning Myrtle's bathroom_ ," they both said.

"Now can we go find McGonagall?" Ron questioned.

* * *

Ron's face was pale in the firelight, and Hope couldn't bring herself to go over to him and make an attempt to comfort him.

 _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_ …no one ever wanted to hear that about their little sister.

"What should I do?" she asked aloud, not even sure who she was directing her question to when a hand squeezed hers. She didn't have to look up to know that it was George, but she did anyways. His eyes were red, much like Ron's were, only Ron's red was closer to bloodshot than anything else.

He shook his head, looking far too miserable to be George Weasley, but Hope could offer no words just as he could not. She wanted to say something, something that could make him and his brothers feel better, but even those would be laced with shards of glass.

She couldn't give him hope when she didn't know the truth. Ginny could still be alive, but there was no certainty.

Ron's eyes met hers and Hope read what he was thinking in a matter of seconds. _Tonight._

And so, Hope and Ron waited until each and every Gryffindor had slowly filtered out of the common room, finally leaving only Ron and Hope alone.

"Do you—" Ron's voice extinguished quickly before coming back a little strained, "could she be alive?"

"Ron…"

"Just tell me!" Ron snarled.

"I don't know," Hope said quietly, calm despite how angry Ron was, "I don't know everything, Ron, and if Hermione was here, she'd say the same."

Ron's face fell slightly and he had the decency to look ashamed, but then his eyes sharpened.

"Then we should go talk to Lockhart," he said resolutely.

"Huh?" Hope said blankly, confused as to why he wanted to talk to someone who couldn't have possibly have done what his books said he had. "Why?"

"He's going to try and get into the Chamber, remember?" Ron asked, referring to the earlier conversation that they had overheard between the professors. "We can tell him where we think it is and tell him there's a basilisk in there."

Hope opened her mouth to disagree, but Ron was already moving towards the portrait hole and she had no choice but to follow him. She had yet to see Lockhart do a spell that was remotely useful, but he was going to go down into the Chamber…she sighed, closely following her friend; this was turning into a truly terrible day.

Ron threw open the door of Lockhart's office with an echoing bang.

Lockhart seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. His walls were bare of portraits of himself, his illustrious books were being thrown haphazardly into his trunk, and his ostentatious robes were being shoved into a spare trunk.

"And where do you think you're going, Professor?" Hope said in a dark and cold voice. He was packing to leave when he said that he was going to go down and fight the basilisk…that didn't really paint a good picture.

Her voice seemed to startle him if how whirled around, his eyes wild. "Miss Potter – Mr. Weasley—"

Both Ron and Hope had their wands out and pointing at him in a matter of seconds.

" _You're running away_!" Ron said in startling realization, giving him an angry glower. "You _coward!_ After all that stuff you did in your books!"

"Books can be misleading," Lockhart said in almost a squeak, quailing slightly before Ron's righteous anger.

"'Books can be misleading'?" Hope quoted with a snarl. "You wrote them, didn't you! Or have I been right about thinking you were a fraud all this time?"

She would have to go with the latter, going off of how Lockhart's face had grown pitiful. "My dear girl," he said in a condescending voice that rubbed Hope the wrong way, "do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think _I'd_ done all those things—"

"You make me sick," Hope said with a growl. "Stealing other people's work for _profit!_ You're worse than I thought you were!"

And then Lockhart whipped out his wand and pointed it at them. Ron took a step back, surprised that a teacher was actually going to curse them, but Hope's eyes narrowed.

"Terribly sorry," Lockhart said coolly, "but I'm going to have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have you—"

" _Expelliarmus_!" Hope snapped, her anger spilling over so that Lockhart was actually thrown backwards, slamming into the wall and causing one of the bookshelves to collapse, dumping books over his head, even as Hope hauled him to his feet, keeping her wand and Ron keeping his trained on the professor.

"Now," she seethed, " _we're_ going into the Chamber to find Ginny, and _you're_ coming with us."

Lockhart could only glance between each of the angry faces glaring at him before he was forced out of the office and down to the first floor.

"Myrtle?" Hope called as they entered the lavatory, her wand still pointed at Lockhart's neck. "Are you here?"

"What do you want?" came Myrtle's sullen voice, her ghostly form shimmering on top of one of the stalls for the out-of-order toilets.

"I want to know about the day you died," Hope said bluntly.

The ghost goggled at her as though no one had ever asked her such a question which seemed highly likely, given her attitude. And then she looked so impossibly pleased.

" _Ooooh,_ it was dreadful," she said, her voice filling with zest and a smile splitting her face, "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall." She patted the stall on which she was hovering above. "I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard someone come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been." Myrtle had to reassert herself, going a bit off-topic. "Anyways, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So, I unlocked the door to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then—" Myrtle swelled with pride, her smile beaming. "I _died_."

"Did you see anything?" Hope asked. "Like some sort of creature?"

"No," Myrtle said, sounding a bit lost in thought for a moment before her attention returned, "but I did see a pair of great, big yellow eyes."

"Where?"

"Over there," Myrtle said in a vague manner, gesturing to the sink. Hope had Ron take over guarding the fraud as she investigated the sink. Far away, it looked just like the other sinks, but this one was different, she could just feel it.

"Find anything?" Ron demanded.

"Hang on," Hope called back, crouching close to inspect the taps of the sink. Someone had scratched a hasty drawing of a snake into the side. "Yep, found it. It's got a snake on it."

"So that's the opening to the Chamber of Secrets?" Ron demanded.

"Possibly," Hope said, rubbing a thumb over the carving, twisting the tap, but it didn't work. "But how do we get in?"

"Parseltongue!" Ron blurted out, making Hope turn back to look at him. "Try Parseltongue, that's got to work."

"Maybe," she said agreeably, kneeling once more. "I've never really tried talking Parseltongue when there wasn't a snake around."

"Have a go," Ron said, adding, " _please."_

"I'll try," she said, "no promises."

Her green eyes were level with the tap, but then her silver ring caught the light, giving it the illusion that the thin silver snake wrapped around her ring finger was moving. " _Open,"_ she hissed in that tongue that no one else could understand, a tongue that was low and guttural and sounding much like a resounding hiss.

Instantly, a low clicking sound could be heard as the sink sank lower and lower until it had disappeared completely, a metal grate sliding over the top of it. Hope stepped forward slightly, without the sink, now a large pipe could be seen, big enough even for Hagrid to slide down.

She turned, aiming her wand at Lockhart. "You're going first, Fraud."

"I don't think –Think about this!" Lockhart tried to reason with them as Ron shoved him towards the opening. "What good will it do?"

"What _good_ —?!" Ron took an angry step forward, but Hope held him at bay.

"There's an eleven-year-old girl down there," she said shortly, "she could be _dying_ , so we think it'll do a lot of good, yeah." Then they pushed him, his body clanking against the pipe as he fell.

Ron held out a hand to Hope. "Together?"

"Always," Hope said with a wry smile, gripping his fingers as she jumped with him.

The pipe was dark and dark and slick and seemed to go on forever. The only thing she could be certain of was Ron's hand tightly clasped in hers, a comfort in the darkness. It felt like minutes, or even hours before the pipe leveled out, but she couldn't be sure before she and Ron tumbled head over tea kettle onto the wet floor.

"We must be under the lake," Ron said, attempting to brush the grime that had accumulated on his robes on the way down –in vain– and glancing around them at the same time, taking note of the damp surroundings. He swallowed nervously.

"All right, Ron?" Hope prodded, stumbling to her feet with a small cut on one of her legs that had ripped through the thick black material that she always wore over them.

"Yeah," he said with a grimace, "let's go."

She nodded as well. " _Lumos!_ " The light emanating from the tip of her wand spread out, encompassing a large area. "Try to avoid the bones," she added, making Lockhart squeak like a mouse and Ron recoil slightly, but neither made any other comment.

Walking through the tunnel with nothing but silence made Hope very tense because she felt as though someone was watching her, even though no one else was around.

"Hope," Ron's voice directed her in the direction of where he was pointing, "look at that!"

Hope's heart stopped beating momentarily when she saw the acidic green scales…was this the basilisk? She held a finger to her lips, silently telling Ron to be silent as she approached slowly. And then she breathed again.

"It's all right," she called close to where the head should have been, "it's just the snake skin; the basilisk isn't here."

Ron sighed in relief, but Lockhart crumpled to the ground.

"What's wrong with him?" Hope demanded, picking up a few green scales and pocketing them for later.

"Dunno, I think he fainted," Ron said, kicking him slightly. "Oi! Wake up!"

"Look out!" Hope yelled, noticing what he was planning a split second too late as Lockhart lunged at Ron, wrestling his wand from his grip.

"Sadly," Lockhart said with wild eyes, "the adventure ends here. I shall take this bit of skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girl, and that you two _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. Now, say goodbye to your memories!"

He raised Ron's damaged wand. _"Obliviate!"_

Hope lurched away as the wand gave a loud explosion that rocked the tunnel and had her falling to the ground and keeping her arms protectively over her head as if they were a helmet. That didn't stop a heavy rock from jarring into her back hard enough to leave a bruise.

It was only when the tunnel had stopped shaking and the debris stopped falling that Hope finally sat up.

"My name is Hope Lily Potter," she reminded herself before grinning, "ha-ha! Still got my memories intact!" And then her face fell as she looked behind her. "Oh, shit." A wall of jagged stone cut her off from Ron.

 _"Ron!"_ she yelled. " _Ron, are you there?!"_

For one terrifying second, she thought Lockhart had succeeded in wiping his memories, but then a cough followed by a muffled voice. "I'm here," Ron called through the wall, "I'm fine, but the git isn't –the wand blasted him."

Hope winced at the pitch of the shriek and assumed Ron had expended some of his anger towards the man.

"What do we do now?" Ron complained. "It'll take too long to move the rocks, and Ginny—!" His words were cut off by his anguish.

"I'll-I'll go on ahead!" Hope said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she thought it did. "Why don't you just shift those rocks and come when you can, all right?"

"All right," Ron said quickly, his voice strained slightly, "see you soon."

"Right."

And then, gripping her wand, she turned away from the wall and towards danger, loping with difficulty around the massive snake-skin. The tunnel was longer than she thought at first glance and she considering moving faster, but with how uneven the ground was, she doubted that would end well for her. It wouldn't matter anymore, though, because the tunnel had finally ended.

She found herself standing before a circular door on which several carved snakes were positioned in curves, the onyx of their eyes glinting as Hope spoke that same Parseltongue word that she had uttered earlier, and a metal snake slithered out of the wall, forcing of the heads of the other snakes backwards until it disappeared into a hole in the wall at the top as the door swung open, admitting Hope.

She climbed down the short ladder before placing her feet on the ground once more.

It was a second chamber, only this one was lit with green flames held in serpentine torch brackets, illuminating the snake-like columns and the massive statue at the end of the chamber. He didn't look anything like the young albeit arrogant man that she had met at Christmas the previous year, but this must have been when he had grown bitter and angry from all of the horrors that had occurred in his life.

And there…close to the statue was—

 _"Ginny!"_ Hope yelled, skidding across the ground as she ran to the body lying before the statue. "Ginny?"

She cupped the younger girl's pale cheeks, feeling how ice-cold her skin was. How long had she been lying down here? Hope elevated Ginny's head slightly, slapping her cheeks lightly. "Come on, Ginny," she whispered, "wake up!" but she didn't seem to even be aware of Hope's presence.

"She won't wake."

Hope twisted her head fast enough that it gave an audible crack as she turned to survey the person who had tried to convince her of Hagrid's guilt. Tom Riddle. His dark eyes were fastened to hers, as if her face was an interesting piece of art.

 _"You!"_ she snarled. "What did you do?!"

Riddle smiled in a way that set Hope on edge. "She's alive," he said in a voice that could have been taken as assuring, but Hope saw through it, "but only just."

Hope's eyes narrowed as she gently placed Ginny's head back on the ground and stood before him. "What are you?" she demanded. "You can't be a ghost; you don't have that blue aura that they do."

"I am a memory," he said in that quiet voice of his, "preserved in a diary for fifty years."

Hope's eyes narrowed further. She'd already asked Professor Flitwick and he'd told her that preserving a memory inside of an object that wasn't a Pensieve was impossible, so what exactly was he?

And he was holding a wand, a wand that looked strangely familiar... Her eyes widened comically as she checked her person.

"Give me my wand!" she said, her temper flaring. "I need that!"

"Oh, you won't," he said.

"Won't be—? What the ruddy hell are you _talking about_?!" Hope demanded.

He smiled at her, but there was something off about it; some malice was hidden underneath it. "I've waited a long time for this, Hope Potter. For the chance to see you. To meet you."

Why would he want to talk to her? Hope dropped a hand to feel for Ginny's pulse at her wrist, sighing at hear the slow but steady thrum of her heart.

"Did you do this?" she asked quietly, her fury growing icy.

"You will find that young Ginny Weasley did this to herself."

Her head shot up to stare incredulously. "What do you _mean_ she did this to herself?"

"I suppose it's because Ginny Weasley opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger," Riddle said, taking in her thunderstruck expression. "Because, you see, little Ginny's been writing in my diary for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes –how her brothers _tease_ her, how she had come to school with second-hand robes and books, and how—" his eyes had now attained a malevolent gleam that seemed more sinister in the lighting of the Chamber "—how she didn't think famous, good, great Hope Potter would _ever_ like her."

Hope's scowl darkened as he continued to talk, his voice droning on and on, grating at her nerves and giving her the firm desire to bury her fist in his face. The longer he spoke, the angrier she got until her hands were balled up into shaking fists at her side, exercising as much control as she could to not strike him, not that it would matter, seeing as any attack she made would probably go straight through him.

"…For many months now, my new target has been _you_."

Hope's frown intensified.

"Imagine how angry I was when the next time my diary was opened, it was Ginny who was writing to me and not you," he said in a mild voice. "She saw you with the diary, you see, and panicked. What if you found out how to work it, and I repeated all her secrets to you? What if, even worse, I told you who had been strangling roosters? So, the foolish little brat waited until your dormitory was deserted and stole it back. But I knew what I must do. It was clear to me that you were on the trail of Slytherin's heir. From everything Ginny had told me about you, I knew you would go to any lengths to solve the mystery –particularly if one of your best friends was attacked."

Hope could feel herself filling with white-hot rage. He had _targeted_ Hermione...how _dare_ he!

"And Ginny told me the whole school was buzzing because you could speak Parseltongue…" His eyes seemed eager now, happy at how angry he was making her. "So I made Ginny write her own farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. She struggled and cried and became very _boring_. But there wasn't much life left in her…She put too much into the diary, and into me."

"You piece of _scum_!" she seethed. "You're talking about her like she's some kind of tool!"

"I suppose she was," he said carelessly. "She's little more than a corpse now, but I have so many questions for you."

Hope glared furiously, but he was not deterred. "How is it that you –a skinny, weak, _girl_ with no extraordinary magical talent– managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

"What's it matter?" Hope asked, more than slightly irritated when he slighted her for being female, but it wasn't anything knew. "Voldemort—"

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future, Hope Potter."

Hope felt an awful sense of foreboding when, using her wand, he wrote out his full name in fiery letters that rearranged themselves into "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT."

"Oh, you've _got_ to be _kidding_ me," she muttered.

This arrogant, cruel _boy_ was Voldemort? And then she laughed as he said "I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

 _"What_ ," he said coolly, "is so funny?"

"Oh, it's nothing," Hope said in between guffaws, "but how on earth can you claim to be the greatest wizard in the world when you're so bloody _terrified_ of Dumbledore!" She probably would have bent at the waist in her laughter if her back didn't throb lightly with every movement. "You're scared _stiff_ when it comes to going against him!"

A low growl left his lips at her insults and he opened his mouth to speak when the sound of music penetrated Hope's eardrums and a red-and-golden bird streaked through the air, dropping something old and ratty into her arms.

This time it was Riddle that laughed, his laugh high and cold and chilling to the bone. "So, this is what Dumbledore sends his defender! A songbird and an old hat!"

And then Riddle turned away from Hope, speaking directly to the stone face of Slytherin.

" _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"_ The words came out as a hiss, but Hope understood them. And her grip tightened over the hat as Slytherin's mouth dropped down and down until an obvious hole was left and Hope took a step back not feeling brave at all when she caught a glimpse of the king of serpents within the hole, but then she shut her eyes quickly, fearing petrification if she did look upon him.

As soon as she heard Riddle's next words she was racing backwards: _"Kill her."_

But the tile floor was too slippery with slime and water and she tripped, tumbling to the ground ungracefully and giving herself a long scrape along her jaw as she did so. And then she heard it cry in pain, so she couldn't resist turning around opening her eyes to see the brilliantly-feathered bird using its golden talons to slice up the poisonous eyes of the basilisk, blinding it.

" _NO!"_ Hope didn't have to glance back to Riddle to see the pure fury on his face, because it was laced in his voice. _"LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE GIRL IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL HER! KILL HER!"_

Hope huffed lightly in annoyance. Talk about having an obsession.

She lifted the Sorting Hat carefully, only to blink in surprise, because the hat had gained a bit of weight since her fall. She looked into it and was surprised to see the hilt of a sword shimmering within the fabric.

She drew it and without thinking at all of the repercussions, drove the blade into the belly of the serpent.

As expected, the basilisk threw back its mighty head and screamed in a tongue that was universal; pain. Hope withdrew the sword from the snake and poised to strike again when the basilisk aimed its head downwards, aiming for her. Hope had barely a second to twist the sword upwards and into the roof of its mouth.

And then the pain exploded around her and she screamed and venom like fire coursed through her veins.

* * *

Ron kicked savagely at the wall, anger and worry adding to his crazy bundle of emotions that he was currently feeling and doing him no good. He glanced viciously back at where Lockhart lay, knocked out. Yes, he would admit that it was him, using a rock. It was all his fault anyways. He deserved a good few knock to the head.

He stopped cold when he heard the pain-filled scream that echoed through the chamber, toppling rocks as it shook the whole chamber, and it was only then he broke a hole large enough to slip through and he raced down the tunnel in the direction Hope must have gone, coming to a stop before the door.

He wrenched and pried at the metal snakes since there was no handle, but the door wouldn't budge.

"Come _on!"_ he complained, kicking at it with an already aching foot. "Open _up!"_

He screwed his eyes shut and focused on trying to remember what Hope had said up at the top of the pipe, that word in Parseltongue. He gave it a shot, allowing a strangled hiss to leave his lips, sounding much like it had when Hope had said it. Still, he was a bit surprised when the door swung open and he almost vaulted through it.

"Hope!"

Everything was hazy and fuzzy to Hope, the pain spreading outwards from her arm, the poison filtering through her body, strangling her from the inside out as she stumbled towards that blur of red and black that was Ginny.

"Hope!"

"Ron?" She mumbled, her eyesight blurring as her friend came beside her, helping to guide her towards his sister, and once she was close enough, she collapsed onto the ground next to her, fumbling blindly for the little diary.

Ron was scowling at the boy who was standing next to his sister –who was still alive, he'd checked–, becoming more solid as the time wore on. _And he was holding Hope's wand._

Hope gave a low hacking cough. It was getting harder to breathe; was the air getting heavier, or was it just her? Her fingertips made contact with the flimsy leather cover and she gripped it.

"You're dead, Hope Potter," Riddle said with relish. "Dead. And I'm going to sit here and watch you die, and watch how your friend reacts." He smirked. "Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

Hope flipped the book open, ignoring him, pulling out the fang from her arm, crying out and making Ron pale. Was she really going to die? "Hope," he whispered, "you're not going to die."

She looked up and gave him a bright smile even though the color was fading from her cheeks and the light from her eyes. "Ronald Weasley," she said fondly, "I'm glad I met you." And then she raised the fang and punctured it into the open pages of the book.

"NO!" Riddle screamed as ink spilled from the puncture mark, and, stunned, Ron stared as the boy twisted in on himself before exploding into a flash of light, letting Hope's wand clatter to the ground.

"Good," Hope hissed through clenched teeth. "Now I can die in peace."

"Shut up!" Ron said furiously. "You're not dying!"

"You know I hate stating the obvious," Hope slurred, "but I feel like I would know."

She closed her eyes tiredly and there was a soft hand in her hair, and when she opened them, her sight was clear and Mirror Lady was there, smiling down on her.

"Hi," Hope whispered with difficulty, "is it time to go?"

"Not yet," Mirror Lady promised, her cloak of raven feathers brushing against Hope's skin. "You have everything you need to fix yourself, dear heart."

"What?" Hope asked fuzzily, the venom coursing through her making it difficult to think.

"Dear heart, if we left the saving to the adults, where would all the great stories come from?" Mirror Lady asked, leaning down to grasp Hope's wrist. "Fix yourself, Hope."

And then Hope opened her eyes and whispered "Heal" and Ron watched thin veins of green spread from where the fang had gone through, burning away to red before fading with the mark, leaving a circular mark against her forearm. And all Ron could think about was Hope saying "If magic solved all my problems, then what would be the point?"

Hope coughed and groaned. "Does that count as dying? I think that should count as a death, because I'm starting to think I should be keeping a tally," she wheezed.

"I'm seriously going to kill you," Ron threatened, his panic easing as she sat up slowly, Ginny beginning to stir beside her.

"Seal the deal, Weasley, let's go," Hope groaned. "And while we're at it, can we take a really long nap after this?"

Ron gave a noise that was somewhere between laughing and crying. "You can sleep all you like, I promise."

"Good."

Ginny gave a similar groan as she finally awoke.

"Ginny!" Ron cried in relief as his little sister sat up, and he couldn't resist pulling her into his arms. Seeing her brother and having him hold her was enough to break the dam and a flood of tears and wails left her as she threw her arms around him.

Hope couldn't help but watch the pair in amusement, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to rid them of sleep, instead she stood up slowly to meander to where the basilisk had fallen, getting a good look at the teeth, finding a particularly straight one and yanking it out.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" Ron demanded and Hope twisted around carefully with a wild grin.

"I'm gonna make this into a badass knife," she replied and he pressed a hand to his face. "All right, Ginny?" she asked in between a yawn as the girl's tears died down to sniffles. Ginny nodded sorrowfully.

"I'm going to be _e-expelled!"_ she bemoaned.

"No," Hope said firmly, "somehow I think that's going to be the last thing that's going to happen. No one can blame you for all this, you didn't do this of your own will, and Professor McGonagall will understand."

Ginny didn't look like she agreed, the tears still streaming down her face with no sign of stopping.

"I suppose we should go find Lockhart and get out of here," Hope mused aloud.

* * *

These past two days had been too exhausting in Hope's honest opinion. Retelling everything that they'd done over the past year, excluding the Polyjuice, of course, to Dumbledore (who had returned from his dismissal by the governors) had been incredibly draining. Hope had been a bit reluctant to hand over Godric Gryffindor's sword, but what could you do? Ron and Hope had received awards to the school, but the two of them had insisted on Hermione receiving one as well, after all, if she hadn't been petrified, they would have figured out just what had caused the attacks weeks ago. The issue of Ginny's involvement had been resolved and Hope had managed to free Dobby the House-elf from his servitude to the Malfoy family.

All in a day's work.

"Can you ever _not_ get into trouble?"

Hope froze before shifting her eyes to the left where George Weasley was leaning against the wall in his pajamas. Hope's cheeks filled with heat as she realized that she was covered in dirt, grime, slime, and blood.

"I'm kind of attracted to trouble," she said cheekily, flouncing over to stand by his side, "it's why we're friends…or did you not get that memo?"

"Oi, cheeky," George said with a grin that lit up his face, "I may have to prank you for that."

"Oh, you wouldn't dare," Hope disagreed with an even brighter smile. Now that the basilisk was dead, everything seemed so much brighter and happier and funnier. It was funny to think of it like that, but it was absolutely true. "You've met your match, George Weasley."

He arched an eyebrow towards the girl, cheeks turning the faintest pink. "My match? You really think so?"

Hope gave a light laugh bouncing onto the balls of her feet and the tips of her toes. "Oh, absolutely," she said cheerfully, swinging herself in a circle, closing her eyes before skipping off in the direction of the Great Hall.

George stood still for a few seconds, his mouth gaping slightly as he stared after her. "Oi, _wait!"_ he yelled, racing after her until he caught up with her just outside the Great Hall. "Merlin, woman, you can run!" he said in surprise as they walked in together, Hope earning a loud raucous applause from a good three-fourths of the room making Hope turn absolutely scarlet, ducking her head and moving to a free spot at the table and burying her face in her arms even as she received many thumps on her back. And then Ron entered and he received the same sort of welcome, and he handled it much like Hope had, turning the exact shade of cherries, but beaming as he came to sit at Gryffindor table.

Hope recovered enough to lift her face from the table, but she looked rather like she had a bad sunburn.

The party in the Great Hall lasted all night so Hope and Ron virtually forgot that they'd been awake for over two days and simply enjoyed the festivities.

"Hope!" George called from the opposite side of the table, grinning again and nodding towards the front of the hall. "Look who's here!"

Hope and Ron twisted to see a familiar head of bushy hair.

Hermione Granger beamed as her two friends stood up suddenly from the Gryffindor table to stare, and then she was running down the aisle, yelling in exuberance, "You solved it! You solved it!"

She threw her arms around Hope as the two laughed and cried, embracing each other firmly before dragging Ron into the mix, much to his embarrassment. And then a number of congratulations went around to Hermione.

It seemed to be a day of red faces.

"Next time," Hope said, wiping at her grimy face, "next time tell us what you're thinking when there's a monster on the loose, alright?"

"I promise," Hermione laughed, only startling when Hope and Seamus shouted as one, rushing to hug Dean as he came through the doors, beaming, and yelping as their enthusiasm knocked him to the ground, though he laughed all the same, allowing them to drag him to the table for a seat.

Hope fell asleep halfway through desert after Hagrid's release from Azkaban and return to Hogwarts, despite all the excitement, only to wake up a day and a half later tucked safely into her bed.

So, of course, the first thing Hope did was run off for the viaduct bridge, looking down into the chasm it crossed, wondering what it would be like to climb up the side.

"You look like you're going to do something reckless," George said, coming to settle beside her. "Not planning on jumping, are you?"

"Hm," Hope hummed, "debating on the merits of _climbing_ …you lot got any plans for the summer?"

"Not yet," George admitted with a grin. "But I'm sure Fred and I can cook up some trouble."

Hope laughed.

"What about you? Got anyplace you're planning to run off to?" It sucked that she couldn't get out of living with the Dursleys, because every time George thought about that massive bruise at her eye, he wanted to hit something.

"I'm thinking Wales, again," Hope replied, eyes in the distance. "I've got a map to Salazar Slytherin's ancestral home and I want to do some exploring…maybe find some more knives."

She pulled the one Nath had given her out of her pocket, flicking it open, and looking to George, who had to look away quickly, a flush on his cheeks, pulling a little uncomfortably at his collar. Hope thought it best not to comment. "Here."

She handed him what looked like a small compact mirror. "What's this for?"

"Angie enchanted it, its connected to mine and hers," Hope offered helpfully. "I think she wanted it to talk to Fred but thinks he's more likely to lose it and I think Ron's the same way, so, here you are…quicker than a letter."

"I don't mind your letters, they've got bits of you in them," George shrugged and Hope turned pink, running a hand through her hair. "You'll tell us if you find anything cool?"

"Oh, yeah, for sure," Hope coughed to cover her embarrassment. " _Personally_ , I'm hoping for a pirate ship."

George laughed bright and clear and Hope felt lighter than she had in a long time, unaware of the eyes watching her from a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Hope's going to end up collecting a bunch of knives. There were a lot of things tweaked this book compared to Looking Beyond, but its to go with Stand Tall once we finally reach the end. Diane Thomas is a very interesting character and writing her interactions with Molly are going to be hysterical. More hints of otherworldly-ness to come. Hope is officially on anti-depressants, which she sorely needs. My sister was only one them for a few months, but Hope strikes me as the type to need them for a few years.


	3. Year Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has dawned on me that this is essentially an au where Hogwarts and Brakebills exist in the same universe, just on separate countries and they hate each other's guts. Which makes more sense since I was basically stealing the plot of season 3 and reworking it to suit my setting in ST.
> 
> Dumbledore and Fogg do not get along, but that's a story for another book ;)

Hope did not steal the bike, no matter what the Dursleys thought. She'd attached what looked slightly like a wagon to the back of it, stuffing her backpack and sleeping bag into it before taking off, grin on her face, sunglasses on her eyes, Nath's phone in her pocket.

If she'd been biking the whole way, she suspected it would've been something like almost a full day of biking, but Hope could flash and it took time off reaching her destination, because although Pithos, what the Slytherin castle was called, was in Wales as Potter Manor had been, it diverged at a certain point. And once she'd flashed there -scaring a few pigeons-, that still left her with a bit left to bike and it would at the very least be a work out for Hope's legs.

Her limp was gone now, though the scars would remain, but Hope had never minded scars too much, not with the new one the basilisk had left her on her arm.

So, she tied her hair back, let her skin be as olive as her father's had been, grinned, and began to pedal in the direction of the Forest of Morea.

It was a long ride, she'd admit later, when she finally peeled off the road to park the bike against a tree, hiking up her backpack and sleeping bag as she pulled out the flimsy parchment with her directions on it and began her trek in.

Hope had always liked the outdoors more than the Dursleys had liked her to, mostly because she already looked violently unlike them and adding a tan to it was going to make that difference more pronounced. And the Forest of Morea was far less terrifying than the Forbidden Forest.

She gazed around, looking for any indication of the castle positioned just off the coast, but she probably wasn't far enough in.

Hope consulted the map again before tucking it into her pocket, feeling the light dapple of rain making its way through the trees, making her grin more. She didn't even care that she was soaked by the time she reached the wrought iron gates so like Potter Manor's, yet, at the same time, so unlike them. They were like twisting snakes, weaving together…and beyond them lay the most _magnificent_ castle Hope had ever laid eyes on.

It was nowhere as large as Hogwarts, but it didn't need to be. There were mounted spires and turrets with ivy and moss climbing up with flowers blooming across stone, and ramparts curving around the castle itself. And you could just feel the magic in the air, like at Potter Manor, but older, _much_ older…more _natural_ than Potter Manor's had felt.

She brushed her hands against the metal, watching the snakes slither away to allow her entrance, and she could just feel the protective magic Salazar Slytherin had layered around the property, like spiderwebs tugging at her skin.

There was a hint of what had once been a lovely bench on a swing, but everything was so overgrown it was difficult to see as Hope picked her way through tall grass and trees to press against the great double doors, throwing them open before it became too much of a torrential downpour.

Immediately, flames burst to life in long unused torches and Hope couldn't help but smile broadly.

* * *

Yellow-lensed glasses followed the child's movements, taking in a heavy breath. Quinn Adiyodi had met Hope Potter when she was twelve, still with a limp, unease sinking into her spine, nearly blinding them with energy they had no idea she radiated.

She _cracked_ their best charmed lenses.

All magicians had magical energy. All gods had godly essence. All psychics had etheric energy.

Not just anyone could possess etheric energy on top of godly essence and even less could manage it without burning up...

"Whatever that kid is," Quinn muttered to themselves, "it's not human."

And, as if sensing someone was watching her, Hope turned quickly and Quinn vanished, quickly reappearing in their office, cupping their chin thoughtfully. Excess etheric energy was an issue that a lot of students had to deal with, it was what caused a large portion of magical accidents on campus. Overpowered spells sending unsuspecting brats -master's program their _ass-_ to the infirmary, greenhouses bursting in full bloom, cocktails sending people on the worst trip of their lives…the list went on.

Hope Potter was no psychic, but Quinn was personally betting on the discipline that touched on all branches of magic.

Quinn was never wrong.

They'd gone over to Diane's place -trying not to think about how it had felt to kiss her- and had seen Hope and had given her the toughest magical arithmetic problem they could think of, just for kicks. Hope had finished it in five minutes and asked if they had another.

The kid might be learning wand magic, but she was a literal genius at wandless magic.

It was going to cause her a lot of problems; Quinn could just see it.

And Quinn, who hadn't taken a student on in more than a decade started to wonder about the possibility…

* * *

If Hope was feeling particularly adventurous, she probably could've scoured her way through the entire castle in a single day, but Hope liked to take her time and enjoy everything that the castle had to offer. The library, for one thing, was an absolute _marvel,_ larger than Hope could've imagined, at least twice the size of the one in Hogwarts -if not larger-, and the greenhouse was something else entirely.

Well, it wasn't technically a greenhouse, Hope supposed. It was more of a conservatory, being a part of the castle itself and being more like a large glass-paned room that had perhaps once been delicately attended to, but had been left to grow in the absence of that care. She stood there in awe for the longest time.

Now, she had never been much of a lover of plant life, but something about it stuck with her since Professor Sprout had pulled her into that greenhouse last term, she'd had an appreciation for it…and it was starting to look like Hope might not need to buy any potion ingredients that could be grown for the next few years…and probably anyone else that wanted them…but cutting them all down was a toil for another day.

So, she continued on, stopping at the room that had been an interest ever since she had heard the name Nelda Slytherin and learned that Salazar's first born had, in fact, been a squib. So, she pushed her door open cautiously and entered the bed chambers.

It could not have been clearer how very _unlike_ her revered father Nelda was. The room was a mess, a contrast with how James Potter's had been, billowing shirts, knee high boots, ripped breeches, and thick coats were strewn about, some of them a size more suitable for a man, but Hope remembered from Salazar's journal that Nelda had taken her first mate, a man named Damian Blackwood, to be her husband, so that would make sense.

There were knives _everywhere_ ; stabbed into walls, cluttering the desk, some even mounted in cases. Hope could make out a few that looked like the ones Nath had helped form her hands around before showing her how to fling them with ease. She was still a better shot with knives than a long bow but Nath had laughed, saying she struck him more as the crossbow type, either way. And Hope was still trying to figure out why he thought it was so important to teach a ten-year-old to know their way around weaponry, but Nath was a _special_ kind of person.

Hope trailed her fingers over the assortment of knives, some of which seemed ornamental, like when a pirate captain wanted to terrify other pirates, but many had seen real wear, with red crusted into the hilt and tarnishing the metal.

It seemed that Nelda had a simple style, about everything not related to weaponry, which Hope could appreciate, and she pocketed a few earrings before finding a peculiar necklace. It was a long and thick chain with an ornate key hanging from it, beside a small jar filled with what looked like water, sea salt and a blue-green stone, sealed with wax, an octopus charm bound to it.

Hope frowned in confusion, returning it to its place, getting distracted by the serpentine blades propped against the wall.

The necklace would lay forgotten for many years until Hope sought it out with a purpose.

* * *

Bill Weasley had never met Hope Potter in person, but she was, for all intents and purposes, a nerd, that much he could figure out while listening to her ramble to his siblings on a compact mirror that his father had enlarged so as to keep them from fighting over it.

"—and there's so many books, so many _fucking_ books," Hope was saying, full of awe and excitement. "I have to show Hermione the library one day, because she'll just _die on the spot_ , oh my gods…and I don't even think this _counts_ as a greenhouse but _ho-ly fuck!"_

Bill watched the mirror swing around to show them that was hardly a greenhouse, but certainly large, with glass-paned walls, absolutely covered in plants.

"I'm gonna cut down _so many plants,"_ Hope said, absolutely delighted before pausing, "wait, where did I put my knife? Never mind, Nelda's room's full of knives, I can use one of them instead—"

Bill arched an eyebrow when Fred waggled his eyebrows at George who turned pink and ignored him.

"Have you found the pirate ship yet?" George asked instead and Ginny popped her head up immediately.

"There's a _pirate ship?!"_

"I haven't found it yet!" Hope complained with a pout. "But I'm determined to find it before Dean and Miss Diane come up."

"And when's that?" Ron snorted.

"Apparently, Dean and I have the same birthday so Miss Diane decided that we'll have a picnic up here and then she'll drive me back to the Dursleys—" Hope mimed gagging. "—I'm personally looking forward to going back even less because Vernon's sister is going to be visiting and she's going to be a _treat_ …maybe I should look into a spell for self-combustion…"

Ron snorted. "At least you're up to your eyeballs in trouble. Fred and George tried to shut Percy in a pyramid."

Hope laughed, bright and light. "I'm guessing it didn't work."

Percy glowered from the couch.

"Mum spotted us," Fred lamented.

"Oh, yeah, Bill, this is Hope," Ron added and Hope waved cheerily.

"You're the cool older brother, yeah?" she asked.

Bill allowed himself a chuckle. "Something like that. Nice to meet you…is that a blood rune?" He couldn't help but notice the carving on the inside of her wrist. "Nice penmanship."

Blood Magick wasn't technically outlawed on the continent, but it was rather frowned on, so it was amusing that the Girl-Who-Lived had chosen to study it.

"Thanks," Hope grinned, faintly surprised, "I'm thinking of doing 'protect' and 'attack' on my palms, but waiting for them to heal is gonna be a _menace."_

"Did you ever get around to turning that basilisk fang into a knife?" Ron asked and Hope lit up before yelling "Don't move!" and taking off. "I don't know why I bother asking, she's gonna have a collection on knives by the end of this." Ginny giggled.

"I dunno," Fred's eyes gleamed, "I think George likes when she's got a bunch of knives, right, George?"

George turned positively red and Ron cleared his throat loudly and on the other end, Hedwig jostled the mirror, trilling a hoot. Hope had let her go before they'd gotten on the train and it looked like she'd hunted her down the long way round, which was probably preferable to being locked up with the Dursleys.

"Shut _up!"_ he hissed and Bill hid his amusement and befuddlement, trying to remember a time that George had honestly been attracted to anyone, but that had always been more of Fred's thing.

"Maybe you should get her a knife for her bir—"

George slammed his hand over Fred's mouth, both of them falling to struggle on the ground just as Hope came back.

"Here it i—hang on, what's going on with Fred and George?"

"Ignore them," Ron said sagely, "they're absolutely mental."

Bill snorted.

* * *

"How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," Ginny admitted, holding the mirror and watching Hope try her hand at shredding some plants that looked like something she'd used in potions before. "Some days, I'm not so great, but being away…helps, I _think."_

Hope hummed faintly, using her teeth to tie twine around a bundle of knotgrass. She was making headway on clearing up the greenhouse, but the Venomous Tentacula was going to take some work.

Ginny swallowed thickly. "Sometimes I think something might really be _broken_ inside me."

That made Hope pause and sigh heavily. "Yeah, I feel that way sometimes too."

That startled Ginny, but she remembered how down Hope had been the previous year before Christmas, when she'd had a violent turn around and started baring her teeth and fighting with anyone that gave her trouble. Ginny remembered thinking 'If she can do that, then why can't I?' But it turned out, Hope had a lot of help and put a lot of work into it.

"I think my brain… _breaks_ sometimes," Hope admitted. "I'm getting better but I take medications -um, potions, I guess- to help me handle it better. Some people's brains just don't work the way they should and we've got to try a bit harder at things that come easier to everyone else…like getting out of bed when we don't even want to move, or having more trouble concentrating on things, not finding things as fun as you used to…but don't let Riddle tell you how to live your life."

Ginny grimaced.

"What'd your parents say about the mind healer?"

That was what Madam Pomfrey had suggested after everything. Dad had wanted to, but mind healers could be expensive, but Mum had never put much stock in mind healers…it wasn't like there was anything physically wrong with Ginny, after all, and Ginny told Hope as much.

Hope's scowl was so fierce that Ginny had to stare when some fluxweed caught on fire and Hope muttered something distasteful under her breath, beating the fire out. "Sometimes I don't understand your mother at all," Hope growled. _"I've_ been to therapy! I am a work in progress because people noticed I was struggling and helped me get the help I _needed!"_

Ginny couldn't quite put it into words, how it felt to hear someone on her side against her mother, but Hope always chafed against authority. She'd been utterly flummoxed as to why she and Ron couldn't share his room last year when Mum had turned red in the face, or why she had to help with making lunch when the boys didn't have to…but Mum had always been a bit old-fashioned.

"You call me if you ever need to talk, yeah?" Hope's eyes were dark and severe and Ginny remembered her pale and bloody in the Chamber and she remembered the scars littering her leg; Hope had paid the price for her experience.

"I promise," Ginny said quietly before shaking herself and clearing her throat to say resolutely, "I _will."_

Hope nodded approvingly and somehow that meant more than Mum's pleasure at her doing well in school, despite all that had happened.

* * *

"So, you haven't found the ship, yet?" Dean laughed and Hope swallowed her disappointment into her sandwich.

"Nope…but it's gotta be under the castle, if it's still there," Hope complained. "Like, I've never been a pirate person, but that ship would make me _reconsider."_

Dean scoffed. "You have two knives on you right now, I think you're a _pirate person."_

Hope scowled and Diane sniggered into her cup of juice, watching them banter as she sat back and enjoyed the show on the blanket they'd spread out on the beach, their sandwiches and drinks crammed next to their legs.

"What'd George get you for your birthday?" Dean grinned. "Was it a knife?"

"You know what, _Thomas?_ I'm gonna shove _this—"_

Diane cleared her throat. "No violence where there are witnesses."

_"Mum!"_

"Sure thing!"

Dean glowered and Hope smirked devilishly.

"It was a knife, though, wasn't it?" Dean asked, unable to help himself, yelping when Hope threw herself at him, catching him in a head-lock while Diane roared with laughter. "Mum!" he choked. " _Help!"_

"Son, you got yourself into this, you can get yourself out of it," Diane snorted as the pair tussled in the sand, Hope's new necklace glinting in the sunlight. It had a key on a chain with a decorative raven, wings spread, and it did, in fact, conceal a knife, but she wasn't about to tell Dean that.

Eventually, Hope let Dean up, massaging his neck as he did so, Hope rushing into cold water to rinse the sand out of her long red hair. She'd decided to grow it out, Diane had noticed. It was a good look, but it helped when she looked so much happier than she had the last time she'd seen her. She wasn't trying as hard to hide the scar on her forehead, yanking it up into a high ponytail, and Diane could see that she'd had the time to add to her earrings, because the last time she'd seen her, she'd only had two piercings, something which was no longer the case.

She was still wearing the red-gem dangling earrings her godfather had given her, but now there was a snake ear cuff on one ear and two loops in her cartilage of her other ear, and Diane _knew_ Hope had gotten a leather jacket at some point.

"Darling," she said sweetly, "just curious, but are you _planning_ to murder your boy on sight?"

Hope turned bright red. "I'm not—he's not— _look_! I _like_ this look!"

"It's a good look," Diane smiled, flicking her eyes towards Dean. "Try and get a picture, won't you, darling?"

Dean laughed and Hope huffed.

* * *

Long after the kids had run off, Diane palmed a cigarette, snapping her fingers to light the end, and taking in a long drag, blowing out smoke. She barely used magic these days for anything that wasn't lighting a cigarette, and it was better that way.

She used to have so much _power_ at her fingertips, at every tut of her hands, but if there was one thing you shouldn't do, it was get involved with the deity to whom you'd made a deal with for magic. Dean was her greatest gift, but he was also proof that magic wasn't worth a god having power over you.

She could see her lover in every mirror, in every reflection, and she could see her in the water rolling in. Diane remembered well the dark thick curls, the hypnotic eyes, the soft smile, the raven always perched on her shoulder.

Diane scowled, stamping through her image and not caring if she soaked her shoes.

 _"Mum!"_ Dean shouted. "There's a– _its huge!_ You've got to come see!"

"Did you actually find the pirate ship?" she called back, amused.

 _"IT'S AMAZING!"_ Hope's yell pierced the air and Diane laughed, following after them, content to leave the past in the past.

But the past had a nasty habit of not staying where it was supposed to, she found later on, while driving her kids back to Surrey. Dean had commandeered the back seat and had fallen asleep a long time ago, with Hope following suit not long after, curving her body against the window.

Diane's eyes flicked to the back of her neck, visible from her ponytail falling over one shoulder and if anyone with clear eyes was looking, they would be able to see the hint of the triple spiral on the skin there.

She huffed in annoyance. Claimings were tricky business, but it would be just Diane's luck that Dean would end up befriending what equated to his sister, so it was likely that them being born on the same day wasn't mere chance.

" _Fucking Morrigan,"_ Diane muttered under her breath and kept driving.

* * *

Sirius Black had been staking out the Dursleys house for the longest time, because he knew that was where she had to be, his goddaughter, Hope.

She'd been so small the last time he'd seen her, wailing inside that house in Godric's Hollow, not caring how the house shook with every keen…but there she was, striding out of Number Four with an annoyed frown, grabbing a bike where it was propped against the side of the house.

She looked so much like them, Lily and James. The hair and eyes of Lily and the olive cheeks and smirk of James as she flipped off the woman shouting at her to get off the grass, not even bothering to look back, pedaling past.

Sirius didn't want to lose track of her, so he raced after her on his four legs to see her stop at a building labeled 'Fire Station'

"Li'l Hope, not so li'l anymore, eh?" a man commented, wiping his hands on a rag and Hope laughed, leaping off the bike to situate it against a nearby wall.

"Hey, Jim, is Nath inside?"

"With the food," Jim agreed, considering her, "you're starting to look an awful lot like him now, you sure he's not your daddy?"

Sirius bristled faintly, but Hope laughed, waving him off. "No, he's definitely just my godfather, but I'm sure he'll appreciate that you think he's old enough to have a teenager."

"Meh," Jim grumbled, "he's older than he looks." And Hope followed him inside, leaving Sirius to linger, waiting for her reappear again, but that was more than an hour later.

Then, she was accompanied by a tall man wearing the same uniform that Jim had been wearing, but he had James' ( _Hope's_ ) olive skin and bronze hair tied back in a low ponytail, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

"George got me a hidden knife," Hope was telling the man delightedly, "see, look!" She showed him her necklace, which confused Sirius, but the man sniggered.

"Well, at least you've picked someone who knows the way to your heart," he snorted and Hope's cheeks flushed. "You really like this guy a lot, huh?"

Hope shrugged, still flushed. "He's…he respects my space, he never forces me into a corner…he makes me laugh, and the air feels more…breathable when he's around…I don't know how to really describe it, but I like him, he's sweet, and I'm debating about kissing him."

Now, Sirius had been kissing girls at thirteen, and, somehow, he didn't realize how hypocritical of him it was to think "She's too young for that!"

"Are you?" Nath hummed, amused. "Ah, well, don't let him push you into anything, yeah?"

Hope snorted. "When has _anyone_ ever pushed me into anything?" And Nath couldn't help but chuckle in agreement, waving her off as she pedaled away, striding forward to stand beside when Sirius was lying, debating taking after her.

"Now, you aren't playing your part very well, Black," he said, stopping Sirius' heart in his chest. He looked up, but the man didn't seem to notice, patting his pockets with a mutter of "That damn brat stole my cigarettes!".

Sirius growled.

Nath's mouth twisted in amusement. "I stopped finding mortals frightening _centuries_ ago, though I suppose my goddaughter might eventually be in the running." And then he slid his sunglasses down and Sirius yelped, skittering away at the sight of the blackness pooling in his eyes, making the man -not a man- laugh loudly.

* * *

In the distant darkness, someone considered a pair of pictures. One could not have been more clearly a muggle, a simple, powerless, muggle, and the second bore two children, an unknown boy with dark skin and a wide grin, and a familiar girl with a scar on her brow, laughing deeply.

He'd once worked in the Department of Mysteries, what seemed like ages ago, and he knew that Hope Potter's name was recorded in a number of places that you wouldn't've thought it should be. The girl was dangerous, that was why the Dark Lord had gone after her, after all…but he served more than one Dark Lord these days, and this one had power beyond He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's wildest dreams, and terrified Rookwood even more.

This Lord didn't even think Rookwood would be able to kill two children, even one as infamous as Hope Potter, and Augustus Rookwood was determined to prove him wrong, even if he seemed to Rookwood…vaguely _child-like_ in his determination to play fatal games.

They weren't even children, anyways, they were beings - _monsters-_ wearing the faces of children to confuse their enemies and he wouldn't be confused and he wouldn't lose. He'd prove to his dangerous Lord why he was so effective during the War.

Maybe it would be enough to stay his execution.

* * *

Marjorie Dursley was a demon, of that, Hope was entirely certain…or maybe it was the whole family…Of course, "Aunt" Marge had never really liked Hope to begin with, why, Hope couldn't fathom, it wasn't as though she had done something wrong, anything wrong.

Or maybe the woman liked being cruel? She had once given her dog treats as some sort of present, which Hope hadn't been too impressed with. Did she even look _remotely_ like a dog?

She had something against how green her eyes were ("I mean, look at them! No normal person has eyes that color!"), and Hope dearly wanted to say that she had inherited the color from her mother, but she kept her mouth shut, and then Marge complained about her hair ("It's not even the proper ginger!"). _Proper ginger, my ass,_ Hope thought angrily. Her hair was perfectly natural thank you very much. And this time it was about the earrings and how she should be covering her scar up when with company, which Hope thought was utterly ridiculous.

Thankfully, Hope had missed most of her stay, and was only forced to make dinner for her on the last day. Of course, Marge thanked Petunia for such a lovely dinner, while Hope sulked, eating her small share of the food she'd made.

Hope cleared away her things and excused herself from the table once she was finished, doing her best to block out Marge's voice. And by "excusing herself" she meant standing up abruptly as going to the kitchen. She snuck a bit of the leftover Sheppard's Pie into her mouth when they weren't listening.

And then Hope froze when Marge began to talk about Hope as if she wasn't there.

"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the girl's turned out, Vernon," she said to her brother in a soothing voice. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Hope had heard those insults before, it was nothing new, but she could see where it was going…

"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she continued, unaware of the lightning storm brewing inside of Hope at her callous words. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup—"

Without meaning to, Hope caused her wineglass to shatter, caused hairline fractures on the windows, and made the plate she'd been holding cleave in two. Hope frowned deeply, even knowing how Marge always insulted her parents, it still made her anger bubble up inside.

She didn't turn around, but she could feel the glares burning into her back courtesy of Petunia and Vernon.

"Marge! Marge, are you all right?" Petunia asked.

Luckily, Marge was dismissive of her shattered glass. "Not to worry. Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very _firm_ grip…"

Hope gritted her teeth as she packaged the rest of the dinner, just like she was supposed to for a day of leftovers, purposefully spilling a bit of water in the process, forcing her to hike up the stairs and grab a spare towel from the closet and rid her of Marge for a few minutes.

She arrived back down the stairs in time to hear Marge complimenting Dudley for being "proper-sized".

Hope rolled her eyes in annoyance. _Proper-sized?_ Maybe she needed to get her eyes checked if she thought becoming the size of a whale was proper-sized and healthy-sized.

"Now this one," she said, jerking her head towards Hope with a look of disgust, "she's got runty, troublesome look about her. You get that with dogs."

Hope's eyebrow twitched. There she went again, comparing her to a dog again.

"It all comes down to the blood, as I was saying earlier. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg." The plate that had broken in two gained another crack. "They turn up in the best of families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Hope clenched a fist tight, trying to take a calming breath. Diane would've lit her cigarette a pressed the end into Marge's arm with a "What're you gonna do about it, bitch?" expression on her face.

"This Potter," she said, glancing slyly at Hope as if keen to see how long she was going to remain in control of her emotions, "you never told me what he did?"

The dinner small talk wasn't going in the direction that Petunia and Vernon had hoped, if the nervous looks on their faces were any indicator.

"He –didn't work," Vernon said after hesitating a half-second. "Unemployed."

Hope could feel her rage bubbling. Her parents were in _hiding!_ Of course, they couldn't work!

"As I expected!" Marge sounded almost positively gleeful that she had some grounds to insult Hope's parents now. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy—"

"Hey, Marge?" Hope snapped suddenly, turning around to glower at her. " _Eat shit and die."_

Marge swelled up like a bullfrog and Vernon and Petunia were throwing her looks that she ignored. "What did you just say to me?" she blustered.

"I give you about three months, to be perfectly honest," Hope retorted snidely, seeing the aura around her more clearly than anything else. "And if there's one thing I've learned, its I'm _never_ wrong about a death, and it must suck to know you didn't amount to much in life, huh?"

 _"Shut up!"_ Vernon snapped. "Enough from you! Marge, she's—"

 _"Insane?"_ Hope offered helpfully. "Didn't you use that already when I told the police that Dudley pushed me into traffic?"

"Duddy _never_ did such a thing! You made it all up," Petunia insisted hotly, a familiar argument for Hope to sink her teeth in. "You-You have a _mental problem!"_

Hope gave her an unimpressed look. "Depression didn't grow arms and legs and push me into traffic, Petunia, _your son_ did…and as for you…" Hope's eyes darkened as she looked over Marge. "My parents might not've been working when they were killed, but they contributed far more to society than you have, _you fat old bat."_ Her mouth twisted into a sneer. "So, _get stuffed!"_

Marge mouthed wordlessly at Hope, apparently completely stunned at being spoken to the way she had, but then she started to expand, blowing up like a balloon floating up to the ceiling.

"MARGE!" Vernon screamed as Hope allowed herself a private smirk before she made her escape, darting upstairs.

* * *

Sirius Black couldn't really help himself. He was worried, especially with that man with dark eyes being such an active part of Hope's life; he just had to make sure she was all right.

A door slammed open with a loud crack and she strode out of it, wand tucked behind her ear, a bird cage tucked under her arm, dragging a heavy trunk behind her…and was that a woman shaped like a balloon floating up into the sky?

Her face was shrouded by darkness until she came under the lamppost, intent on the park bench that was just a few feet in front of the bush behind which Sirius was hiding in, and then Sirius approached quietly and cautiously.

She was muttering to herself. "…no Dean's no good, I don't want to overstay my welcome…and the Weasleys aren't even back from Egypt yet…" So, she withdrew a small compact mirror, her hand pulling out the wand and holding it tightly.

"Angelina Johnson," she said clearly.

 _"Hey, Hope!"_ a female voice answered her before becoming a bit confused. _"What's wrong?"_

"It's nothing," Hope said quickly, "I just had a question about that bus you told me about…the Kn—"

 _"The Knight Bus_ ," the second voice finished for her, _"yeah, you just hold out your wand and it'll take you wherever you want to go."_ The voice grew suspicious. _"You're not in any trouble are you?"_

"No, I'm fine," Hope disagreed. "See you when term starts, Angie."

 _"Al—"_ but Hope had shut the compact and shoved it into her pants, raking a hand through her long hair.

"Okay, I know you're there," she called out into the darkness, "you can come out now."

Sirius balked slightly and then terror overwhelmed his senses. What should he do? Should he come out or stay hidden? But then he took a step slowly forward and came out of the shadow so that she could see him.

The dog made "drowned" seem like an understatement as it approached her, whining softly. Its ratty fur was pitch black and sticking up every which way and its eyes seemed to glow in the light of the moon.

"C'mere," she crooned softly, holding out a gentle hand and wearing a smile. She scratched behind his ears, making him lean into her hand. Her eyes were drawn to his side and she winced at how obvious the ribs were protruding slightly under his coat.

She gave him a tight smile. "You must be very handsome when you have a bit of meat on your bones," she said, stroking the fur that covered his head.

Sirius wagged his tail and licked her hand, making her laugh aloud. She pressed a sound kiss to the top of his muzzle, but had to blink in surprise because the next second the dog had completely vanished. She scratched her cheek in slight confusion; there had been a dog there, hadn't there been? She was pretty sure… and then she saw why it had bolted.

Hope blinked owlishly at the purple double-decker bus that came to a stop right in front of her, in front of her pointed wand. So, this was the Knight Bus, was it? Not _entirely_ what she was expecting.

A young man, looking rather like he was barely into adulthood himself, stepped down, speaking loudly to the night rather than to Hope.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening!"

Hope raised an eyebrow as he finished, sounding very much like he'd swallowed a script. But that action made her scar shift upwards on her forehead, bringing a bit of it into the light and making Stan's eyes jump to it.

"Woss that on your 'ead?" he asked her.

Hope ran a hand over her fringe, making certain that her scar couldn't be seen. "It's nothing," she said quickly.

"Woss your name?" Stan asked suspiciously.

"Diane Thomas," Hope said, thinking of the first name that came to mind. "Can this bus go to London?"

"Fo' eleven sickles," Stan said, bobbing his head up and down, "but fo' firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and fo' fifteen you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in the color o' your choice."

She tossed him a galleon. "Just to the Leaky Cauldron, keep the change."

Stan grinned toothily as the pair of them managed to haul her rather heavy trunk into the landing of the bus. It was a bit strange on the bus, Hope had to admit, mostly because she had never seen a bus with beds in the place of seats, but then, this was a Wizarding bus, so maybe it was different.

"You 'ave this one," he told her, shoving the trunk under the bed that was directly behind the driver. "This is our driver Ernie Prang."

Hope had the overwhelming feeling as though she was looking at some kind of insect, but then she realized that he was just wearing large and thick glasses that made his eyes seem larger than normal and bulbous.

"Take 'er away, Ern."

Hope yelped aloud as the bus accelerated suddenly, making her fall back onto her bed due the sharpness of the lurch in speed. She clamped her hands down on the bedposts to keep from flying off, and gazing out of the window in slight awe at how fast the streets and cars and people were passing them by, or was it the other way around?

Then she looked back to Stan, her attention drawn to the Daily Prophet he was reading. The figure photographed on the front of it was someone that she had seen before. She'd seen those same dark, endless eyes, that same thin, stretched face on the telly. An escaped convict or something, wasn't it? Was he a Muggle or a wizard, then, if he was on muggle television and on the wizard newspaper?

"That man," she said, nodding to the photo, "who is he?"

"'oo is 'e?" Stan asked, completely startled. "'oo is—? That's Sirius Black, that is. Don't tell me you've never been hearin' of any Sirius Black?"

"No, never," Hope said, eyeing the paper curiously, though, now that she did think about it, the name did sound slightly familiar, though from where Hope couldn't be certain. She'd only just barely seen him on the telly, which was a miracle all by itself.

"'E's a murderer," Stan said, gleeful to be the bringer of morbid news. "Got himself locked up in Azkaban for it."

"Azkaban?" Hope said in confusion. That name did sound familiar…was that the place Hagrid had been sent to, the one he was terrified of? "The prison? How did he escape the prison?"

Stan's eyes widened dramatically and Hope wondered if he was pulling her leg for all this. "That's the question, _innit?_ He's the first one that done it!" His voice dropped. "He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who. I reckon you've 'eard of him."

Well, Hope couldn't disagree with him there.

* * *

Hope didn't trust Minister Fudge from the second she saw him last year from underneath her invisibility cloak with Ron, and she certainly didn't trust him this year. He probably found her disconcerting, not really reacting to much of his kindly spoken words, but Hope had learned the hard way not to trust many in authority positions.

She hadn't even been concerned about how the Ministry of Magic had apparently found, punctured, and modified Marge's memory, which Hope thought was a little too bad. And she didn't understand why they were being so fussy now when they weren't the previous year.

(Hope still didn't know how Nath got that thrown out but she was fairly certain that it was illegal, which made it even more hilarious)

But she supposed it was all right to hang out in Diagon Alley for a few days until it was time to leave on the train, and she managed for a few days quite successfully keeping to herself, but the trouble came when she was making sure she'd gotten all her books for the coming term, only to grab a copy of Magical Drafts and Potions from her trunk and realize it wasn't hers.

Hope had grabbed a lot of books from her family's vault before her first year, but this was clearly one of James Potter's books, going off the bold script on the inside of the cover and there were notes…so many notes…Hope had never even known if her father had been good at potions.

So, she took it with her, intending to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, only to pause and look at the Apothecary, thinking about the basilisk.

Hope had right of conquest, right? To the victor goes the spoils, and Hope had killed the thing…so she stepped inside to see about making a deal with the apothecary.

Mr. Elton, who owned the Apothecary, was absolutely delighted about the prospect of getting his hands on some basilisk parts -anything from the venom, the flesh, the scaley skin, the bones, and the fangs- and from his calculations, it sounded like basilisk materials were worth a fortune.

Hope had no idea what she was going to do with that money, but she didn't really like the idea of leaving a basilisk's corpse, particularly one saturated in venom hanging around in a school.

(The irony that she was carrying a knife made from a basilisk's fang escaped her)

Just as long as Hope's name was kept out of it, she didn't mind going back into that chamber to dice up the serpent's corpse…though Mr. Elton had almost fainted when she asked if he'd wanted several miles of basilisk snake skin.

Still, Hope was feeling fairly accomplished when she finally sat down for a caramel sundae, reading her book propped on the napkin dispenser and reading his careful notes.

_'Crush with flat side of dagger -releases juice better'_

_'Add a sprig of peppermint to counter excessive singing and nose-tweaking side-effects'_

Hope tried to imagine learning potions from someone like her father. Would he have been patient, explaining each step carefully and making sure you knew it was all right when you screwed up? Or would he have been more like Snape?

She traced the slanting words and smiled.

* * *

Seamus saw her first, mostly because Dean got just a little distracted by a pretty blonde girl that he was pretty sure was in Slytherin, but there was something about the way she'd smirked at him out of the corner of her eye that had made Dean trip over his feet slightly.

" _Damn,"_ Seamus said. "Hope looks _good."_

And Dean followed his line of sight to where Hope was sitting at the ice cream shop, a school book open. He frowned. He supposed, objectively, Hope was quite pretty, her dark red hair hiked up in a top knot high on her head, not bothering to hide her scar, and she was keeping her skin olive now so she looked more like her father (She'd cried when Mum had shrugged and said "You look more like you, actually" and Dean had laughed until she'd punched his arm). But Hope had a bit of trouble with clothes, he'd noticed, like she wasn't sure if she wanted to wear baggy shirts or form fitting ones.

She was wearing a very baggy plaid shirt that looked an awful lot like what his mum would wear, tucked into jeans that surprisingly fit well and short boots and Dean suspected his mother having a hand in the pants and boots.

"Seamus, I'm saying this because I love you and you're my best mate," Dean said earnestly, "you aren't anywhere close to being her type."

And Seamus burst into laughter, remembering full well the glow in George Weasley's eyes when he got her to laugh. "Hey, Hope!" he called anyways and Hope looked up from her book to grin and wave and Seamus dragged Dean over. "Good holiday? Blowing people up and all that?"

Hope groaned loudly. "How did you hear about that?"

But Seamus grinned. "I'll never reveal my sources."

Hope actually laughed a that. " _Bullshit_. If I get you some butterbeer, you'll be talking a mile a minute."

"So, you got the Dursleys to sign your permission slip?" Dean asked. "Even after blowing someone up?"

"I conned it out of Vernon before the night started," Hope preened, "stuck it with a bunch of papers he needed to sign for work and he didn't even think twice."

"And you're still reading school books before school's even started!"

Hope looked down at the book in her hands before smirking. "Guess you'll find out why in a few weeks."

Seamus really didn't like the look on her face. "I'm terrified, my heart's racing."

Hope sniggered into her ice cream, downing it when she'd realized it had melted, checking the time. "I'm gonna grab some lunch. See you guys later."

They both waved her away with a laugh, heading off towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, no doubt to marvel at the new Firebolt, and Hope tossed a few coins on the table and headed off to the Leaky Cauldron, taking the steps upstairs two at a time to drop off her book and then making to head back downstairs after shutting her door, only to pause, tentatively pressed down on the floor with her left foot.

It was true that she'd had some sensory loss with her left leg, from how damaged it had been after the accident, and the doctors at the hospital had been pretty certain that while she might regain the ability to walk on it, it was unlikely that she'd experience sensation like she used to. Honestly, it waxed and waned for her and right now she was having a hard time feeling it.

She huffed in annoyance. _They should've just cut it off._

"You all right?" came a familiar voice and Hope looked in surprise. George was tanner than he'd seemed on the mirror, the freckles dotting his cheeks in contrast, but he had the same furrowed brow and tentative smile.

"You're back," Hope said, not even realizing he'd said something to her, "and _wow_ , you look—" Her cheeks flushed and he grinned. "Oh, _shut up."_

"How do I look?" he asked, leaning against the wall. "Good? _Spectacular_? As radiant as the summer sun?"

"I'm not nearly that poetic," Hope grumbled in annoyance, ducking her head slightly and George swallowed thickly when the necklace she was wearing caught the light.

"I guess you liked it," he managed. "My present."

Hope tugged on the chain. "Pretty and dangerous, I like it a lot." She looked up to meet his eyes. "I haven't taken it off."

George rubbed the back of his head, coughing faintly as his cheeks bloomed with color, avoiding her eyes. "Well, um, how would you feel, uh, about going on a date to Hogsmeade." He paused and then clarified. "With me."

"Sounds nice," Hope said, turning pink herself.

 _"Really?"_ George was far too pleased, and then he beamed. "All right, then." He stooped to quickly kiss her cheek, but Hope surprised him, turning just slightly so that he caught her mouth instead. His eyes widened, but hers fluttered shut, fingers running into his hair, keeping him there and George didn't mind in the slightest.

 _"Mm,"_ Hope mumbled when they parted just enough for them both to breathe in sharply. "Not bad."

George's eyebrow twitched. "Not bad?" Then he smirked. "I can do better than that."

But Hope blocked his lips with her fingers, unable to help laughing at his surprised expression. "Later," she promised, kissing his cheek sweetly. "If you have the patience for that."

"You are, without a doubt, the _worst_ person I have ever met," George decided, kissing the fingers against his mouth before interlocking them with his. "You're paying for my butterbeer for this."

"It better be fucking _worth it,"_ Hope laughed brightly and he joined her.

* * *

Ron was exasperated but unsurprised to see Hope and George walking hand-in-hand, faces flushed and Fred was still howling about them kissing before even making it to Hogwarts.

"Do you think I can murder your twin before he gets on the train?" Hope asked loudly to George.

"If you can manage it, all the power to you," George replied sagely, making her giggle and Fred gape in outrage.

"George, you're supposed to be on _my side!"_

"I'm the one he's kissing," Hope snorted. "He's on _my_ side."

George beamed and she glanced out of the corner of her eye, turning faintly pink. "Sorry, Freddie."

"Just wait until I find Angie," Fred grumbled under his breath.

Hermione giggled into her pumpkin juice. "Good holiday, then, Hope?"

"Fairly good." Hope stole some chips from George's plate. "Apart from, you know, blowing someone up, which was just desserts, by the way—" Hermione gave Hope a reproachful look that Hope wisely ignored. "—but, Hermione, Pithos' library is _massive_ and you've got to see it one day!"

And Hermione had never looked quite like something beautiful had slipped from her grasps.

"Was France fun?" Hope asked instead. "See any remains in the ancient catacombs?"

"That would be what you'd want to know," Hermione grumbled while Ron sniggered. "It was beautiful."

Hermione had a small compact mirror to match Hope's but she hadn't used it all that much during the summer, getting swept away in her vacation, which was fine. It wasn't as though she got to see her parents all the time, anyways, and Hope didn't want to intrude.

"Besides, did you _really_ blow up your aunt?" Hermione tried to look severe as Hope opened the Daily Prophet, the same article on the mass-murderer Sirius Black emblazoned.

"I wasn't trying to," Hope responded, unperturbed, "but I also _wasn't_ _not_ trying to, if you know what I mean." George and Fred burst into sniggers while Ron howled. "Hermione, if someone called _you_ a dog and said that there was something wrong with your mother to make you like this—" Hope gestured to herself. "You'd _want_ to blow them up."

Hermione gave a conceding sort of nod.

"We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight too," Ron was telling Hope as she ate a few more chips. "So, you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's staying, too!"

There was something weird about that. Staying in Diagon Alley when they could've saved money by staying at home, especially with how little money the Weasleys had was certainly odd.

"Darling, Dean tells me you blew someone up."

George looked up at the good-to-honest _delighted_ voice as Hope laughed. She was a tall woman with dark gleaming skin, nearly bald and George could see the hint of the muscles in her arms under her light jacket. There was something about her that screamed 'warrior'.

 _"Awesome_ ," the woman grinned. "Stick it to the assholes."

Hope bumped her fist, grinning widely. "You're always happy when I pick fights, Miss Diane."

"A little fighting is good for the soul," Miss Diane declared.

Mum made a scandalized sound. "You're telling _children_ to _fight?"_

Miss Diane wasn't too impressed with Mum. "So, you tell your kids it's okay for adults to treat them like shit and walk all over them and abuse them? I know for a fact my kid came to your place last summer with a massive shiner, just how do you think she _got that?"_

There was an uncomfortable air around them and Hermione arched an eyebrow at how Miss Diane said 'my kid' and how Hope didn't bother to correct her.

"Children rough house!" Mum blustered, flushing red. She hadn't quite believed them or Hope when she'd said where she'd gotten it, but George still remembered feeling how Hope trembled, hiding behind him, only passing out when Mum got too close.

"Maybe _your_ children do, but mine get the mental health they deserve when adults like you fall short," Miss Diane replied unimpressed, eyes flicking over to where Ginny was sitting, trying to make herself smaller.

"Your children? She's not _yours."_

George squeezed a tensed fist, Fred grimaced and Ron sank into his chair, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Hermione hid behind her book.

"She would be," Miss Diane snapped icily and Hope's head shot up, gaping. "I'd adopt her in a heartbeat if I didn't have to deal with meddlesome show-boating wizards." She knelt suddenly, giving only Hope her attention. "Now, darling, when you come home for Christmas we'll go through my old boxes and see if there's any of my clothes you like that will fit you better than that old thing—"

"I _like_ this," Hope complained, tugging on her too-big shirt.

"It's still a bit big on you," Miss Diane smiled. "And then we'll go shopping for anything else you'd like."

Hope blushed brightly. "Oh, well, um, you don't—"

"And you must be George?" Miss Diane held out a hand to him, smiling broadly. "Hope's told me a _lot_ about you."

George beamed, ears red. _"Yeah?"_ Hope avoided his gaze, turning, if possible, even _redder_. "Awful things?"

"Absolutely _horrible,"_ Miss Diane laughed. "My girl can handle herself, but I'm obligated to inform you that if you hurt her, my son Dean is under orders to hex you something awful."

"I can hex him _myself,"_ Hope grumbled, nettled, but she still permitted Diane to kiss the top of her head, sliding her sunglasses back into place.

"Be the chaos you want to see in the world, boys," Miss Diane smirked before making a peace sign and walking out.

"Dean's mum is amazing," Fred said in absolute awe. "Can I marry her?"

Dean, who had arrived long enough to hug his mum goodbye, glowered at him. "Mum doesn't date men."

Mrs. Weasley choked on her tongue while Hope sniggered into her pumpkin juice. "I'm sure Angie'll be relieved."

Fred pinked as they all laughed.

* * *

Dean was heading to bed when he paused outside what must've been Hope's room, because he could hear her inside, talking to someone, sounding frustrated and confused. He couldn't help but knock. "Hope? You doing okay?"

There was silence and then the door opened and Hope's face was pale. "Nath's in the hospital," she said raggedly, scattered. "I've-I've got to—" And then she was rushing around, shoving her clothes into her trunk with all her books. Hedwig hooted in concern on top of her cage. "Hedwig, you go on ahead—" She took off easily and Hope shoved the cage into her trunk, tapping it with her wand, shrinking it so she could pocket it, and then zipping her wand into a hidden pocket inside her jacket.

"I'll come with you," Dean said to her quickly, remembering all his mother's warnings about never going out after dark without a partner. "Lemme just— don't go anywhere—" And he darted over to his and Seamus' room, to let him know, leaving his best mate with his trunk, tucking his own wand into his jacket. "All right, let's go."

Hope didn't say anything as they quietly made their way down the stairs and were halfway to the parlor and the door that lay beyond, when Hope grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop, forcing him to listen in.

It sounded like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley -Dean had been hearing all about his mum's snide comments to Mrs. Weasley all night- and they were arguing.

"It makes no sense not to tell her," Mr. Weasley whispered testily, his voice only echoing slightly in the darkness. "Hope has the right to know. I've tried to tell Fudge, but he insists on treating Hope like a child. She's thirteen years old and—"

"Arthur, the truth would _terrify_ her!" Mrs. Weasley hissed back, making Hope frown slightly in confusion. "Do you really want to send Hope back to school with _that_ hanging over her? For heaven's sake, she's _happy_ not knowing!"

"I don't want to make her miserable," Mr. Weasley refuted, "I want to put her on her guard! You know what sort of trouble those three get into! Hope's ended up in the Forbidden Forest twice already, and Ron once! But Hope mustn't do that this year! When I think what could have happened to her that night she ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn't picked her up, I'm prepared to bet that she would have been dead before the Ministry found her. And she spent nearly the whole summer off on her own…if she'd _known…"_

Dean and Hope shared a stunned, befuddled look.

"But she's _not_ dead," Mrs. Weasley insisted, "she's fine, she's better than fine, so what's the point—"

"Molly." It sounded like Mr. Weasley was straining to remain calm with his wife. "They say Sirius Black's _mad_ , and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape Azkaban, and that's supposed to be impossible. It's been three weeks, and no one's seen hide nor hair of him, and I don't care what Fudge keeps telling the _Daily Prophet_ , we're no nearer catching Black than we are inventing self-spelling wands. The only thing we know for sure is what Black's after—"

"But Hope will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts."

Hope's heart fell straight down into her stomach. _What?_

"We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe," Mr. Weasley said bitterly. "If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break into Hogwarts."

"But no one's really sure that Black's after Hope—"

Hope flinched back slightly both from the words and from the echoing sound of a fist colliding with wood. Dean ground his teeth together.

"Molly," he said, his voice even more carefully controlled than before, "how many times do I have to tell you? They didn't report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black's been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same two words: _'At Hogwarts.'_ Black is deranged, Molly, and he wants Hope dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Hope will bring You-Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Hope stopped You-Know-Who, and he's had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that."

Dean opened his mouth, but Hope was already turning her hair jet black and dragging him quietly out the door to hail the first cab she could find.

She didn't talk for the longest time, not until she was sitting in the hospital room, curled next to Nathaniel Lord's slumbering form. Dean had never met Hope's godfather, but he'd always seemed unbelievably kind, not the kind of person who would have enemies to put him in a hospital.

"They think he was stabbed," Hope said hollowly. "No one even saw it…how the hell does no one see something like that?"

Dean shrugged helplessly. "They think he's gonna be okay, though?"

"Yeah, 'course he'll be fine," Hope said roughly, beginning to hum softly, a tune that Dean vaguely remembered.

"I think my mum's ex used to sing that," he said, trying to be conversational.

"Your dad?"

Dean frowned. "Don't think I ever had a dad, to be perfectly honest."

Hope paused and then she nodded in agreement. She'd thought Dean was adopted to begin with, because the likeliness of Diane being with a man was the lowest of the low, but it made sense; not everyone identified with the gender they were assigned at birth.

"…are you worried about what the Weasleys said?" he asked. "About Sirius Black?"

Hope sighed tiredly. "If I got worried every time someone tried to kill me, I'd never sleep."

"You don't sleep much anyways."

Hope wrinkled her nose at him. "I'll deal with it later."

"Bet you five galleons we miss the train tomorrow," Dean said, settling in for the night.

"Don't worry," Hope muttered mutinously into the sheet. "I've got a broom."

* * *

It was so stupid. He hadn't been thinking, but he'd felt the spell as it ran through him and Nath hadn't been able to help staring at the rich red of the blood pouring out of him and thinking "You know, I don't really fancy the color".

And poor Hope, she looked terrible when he'd awoken to tell her if she needed a bed, he would've just bought one for her. She'd looked caught somewhere between completely furious and about to burst into tears.

Dean bore a lot of resemblance to his mother, Nath had to admit grudgingly, a blessing and a curse. He prayed that the boy never met his absentee mother but the likeness that he would was growing with each passing day.

"You two have already missed your train," he reminded them when Hope wanted to stay longer. "If you stay any longer, you'll never catch up."

"But—" Hope huffed, her eyes fiery, but the stern look he gave her might as well be patented. She grumbled, pulling on her jacket. "Come on, Dean, if the old man wants to be alone…"

"Oi! I'm not old!" Which wasn't entirely true, he was certainly far older than he looked, but he wasn't about to tell Hope that.

She rolled her eyes, shoving Dean out the door before he was properly awake, shooting him an incredibly petulant expression.

"Be safe!" Nath called after her, which she ignored. But she'd be all right.

Augustus Rookwood, however, was marked for death and had been moved to the top of his list overnight. He allowed himself a private smirk.

* * *

Remus Lupin had fallen asleep on the train, and was rudely awakened by the sound of the compartment door sliding open. He kept his eyes closed, hoping he'd be lulled back to sleep.

"Who d'you reckon he is?" a boy hissed, the door shutting after him.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," a girl replied almost immediately.

"How'd you know that?"

"It's on his suitcase, Ronald," she sighed, undoubtedly pointing to it.

"Wonder what he teaches?" Ronald wondered instead.

"That's obvious. There's only one vacancy, isn't there? Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Well, I hope he's up to it," Ronald replied doubtfully. "He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he?...But never mind that, you didn't see Hope board the train, did you?"

Remus struggled not to react to the name.

"No, I think she must've missed it," the girl fretted, "maybe she and Dean are still at the hospital with her godfather…have you ever met him?"

Remus twitched slightly at the mention of 'godfather' trying not to remember Sirius Black, young and happy and cradling a small Hope Potter against his chest, delighted by her babbling.

"Nah, but he's gotta be special for her to go back to a hospital, willingly," Ronald conceded. "Did you see Mum and Dad's faces when they heard she'd run off?"

"Yeah…they didn't look pleased," the girl noted. "But, I mean, how much trouble can she get into in a hospital."

"Don't jinx it," Ronald said wisely and Remus lost track of the conversation, falling back asleep.

* * *

Broomsticks weren't nearly as uncomfortable as Dean had originally thought, thought it still wasn't what he would call an eventful ride, holding tight to Hope's waist, tightening his grip when the wind jostled them too much.

He used to dream about becoming a raven and soaring through the skies and this was about as close as he'd ever get to that dream, he reckoned…unless he wanted to be like Professor McGonagall and become a raven animagus, which frankly sounded like a lot more trouble than it was worth.

But Hope was an excellent flier, which he'd known from watching her play Quidditch, but sometimes you couldn't account for something coming out of nowhere, like a jet of green light colliding with Hope's head and Dean didn't have a chance to shout in alarm before they were dropping into a dive and Hope tumbled off it completely to fall motionlessly against the ground.

Dean scrambled to her side, not even considering pulling out his wand. "Hope! Hope! Nonononono—"

Her brow was split, like the spell had hit her scar and made it spread, cracking like lightning across her forehead. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing because in that moment he'd looked up and fear coiled deep inside him, writhing and recoiling.

It was the tree.

It was the _fucking tree!_

Dean had sketched the likeness of the Blood-Soaked Tree so many times, too many to count, the parted trunk, the burned bark, stained with blood that never seemed to dry. He'd papered his room with them growing up until his mother removed them. God, he couldn't look at it, there was a more pressing issue, like the man in dark robes striding towards him with his wand drawn.

It slashed through the air and Hope _moved._

* * *

Hope heard voices before anything else. She felt so unbelievable small and cradled by gentle arms. "Hope, hm?" came a voice so achingly familiar yet Hope couldn't quite place it in the moment. "A good name, a strong name for a child with a destiny like this one."

"Give her back," a second voice seethed quietly.

Hope struggled to hear the rest.

"…I haven't killed the living in a while, Deal-Breaker, _don't make me start."_

Hope's eyes shot open and she had to take in everything in a matter of seconds. The man advancing towards a stunned Dean, the malevolent Tree from her nightmares, so Hope did what only felt natural; she threw herself in front of him, using her weight to push him back as the white spell passed through the air.

Hope felt it connect rather than saw it, sharp pain burning across her throat, the blood gushing from the wound as she gave rattling gasps for air.

There were a lot of things Hope could've done right then. She could've frozen until Death took her, she could've frozen in the sight of the Blood-Soaked Tree, but Hope didn't do any of those things.

She clutched at her throat, unable to articulate the word 'heal' the only rune she'd carved into her skin, but she didn't need to, she could feel it glowing hot against her skin, so she reached behind her to the pocket knife Nath had given her and flung it.

But the problem with fighting with muggle weapons when your opponent was a wizard who could clearly see them coming, meant that faster than Hope could blink, her own knife was buried in her left thigh.

And then he was on them and Hope blinked and they were knee deep in the Black Lake and somehow, she was holding a pitch-black blade and it was buried in the man's throat.

He stumbled back, eyes stretched wide in horror and Hope pulled it out, Dean behind her, dragging her to shore.

And, like scenting blood, the Giant Squid broke through the surface and its tentacles wrapped around the struggling body and dragging him under until Hope could see an audible gulp.

"What the fuck," Hope managed out emphatically, her voice rough and raw, her neck aching fiercely.

"I think I almost pissed myself," Dean said weakly. "I'm not gonna sleep for a week."

"I'll keep you company," Hope ground out, barely noticing when he dragged her into a hug that made his shoulders shake. Hope was more used to spontaneous acts of violence, so she just patted his shoulder kindly, examining the blade behind his back.

It was cooler than Godric Gryffindor's, that was for sure, pitch black and with a hilt like spread raven wings, positioned down as it beat against the wind.

Hope was definitely keeping it.

"Holy—your _leg—"_

Hope looked down at the knife embedded there. "Can't really feel it, to be honest…neck's worse, I think."

Dean looked from her neck down to the blood staining her front.

"You still got my broom?" Hope asked in her same rough voice.

"You-you _idiot!_ You almost died and you're worrying about—!" He rubbed at his face furiously.

Hope shrugged helplessly.

* * *

Hope hadn't even shown up by the time the Sorting had concluded and Dumbledore had begun his speech and Hermione glanced down the table to where George was sitting with his twin and she could see his concerned frown.

Ron was mentally planning for the worst, given Hope's penchant for getting into trouble by doing nothing.

"As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business," Dumbledore explained seriously from the front of the Great Hall. "They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises — or even Invisibility Cloaks."

Ron and Hermione shared a glance, thinking of Hope's cloak.

"It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you—"

"YOU WANNA GO YOU RAGGEDY FUCK!" was roared not too far away and everyone in the hall froze for the longest moment until a figure, slightly assisting the second stumbled through the great double doors.

Dean certainly looked like he'd been through the wringer, soaked to the bone and utterly exhausted, but Hope put him to shame, looking like a vengeful banshee at his side, blood-stained from a cut to her throat and more blood dripping down from her brow, a knife in her leg, and a blade in her hand.

"You've got some infestation, Headmaster," she grumbled, her voice raw. "How many times do I gotta be killed tonight?"

"You only died once, stop being dramatic," Dean muttered beside her and Hope's eyes twitched.

"If I got a knut for every time I was killed, Dean, I'd have three knuts, which isn't that much but it's still weird that its happened three times," Hope replied dryly, "and if I wanted to deal with my depression kicking my ass, I'd go off my meds."

"If you go off your meds to prove a point, I'll kick your ass," Dean promised.

"Bring it on, Thomas." Hope bared her teeth and she had never looked so out of place, so unearthly. "Sorry we're late, I was murdered and Dean was collateral damage, but I think I lost a lot of blood, so I'm gonna pass out now."

And right on cue, her knees buckled and her eyes rolled back in her head. And it seemed Dean had the same idea, because they both fell to the ground in a dead faint, leaving the entire hall gaping at them.

* * *

Deep in the darkest parts of the castle, lips curved into an amused smile. These were the kind of games they enjoyed _so_ much.

How many times had they played 'kill me if you can?'. They'd honestly lost track. And she was so good at it…but they couldn't very well let her know what they were doing by attacking all the time, that wouldn't make the game very fun.

And they liked fun and games, especially the kind that piled bodies.

They whispered a spell and sent the folded-up parchment on its way, lodging deep into Hope Potter's trunk where it would lay forgotten for a year.

* * *

"What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't." One palm landed on the back of her opposite hand and the guard was asleep faster than Diane could blink. She curved one hand and snapped, the magic rippling, putting the cameras on a loop.

It was more magic than she usually used and she knew She was going to notice, but Diane couldn't quite bring herself to care as she took the stairs into the first file room that unlocked at the wave of her hand, diving into the stacks.

"You're using an awful lot of magic, dear heart," came that familiar, musing voice that once sent shivers down her spine.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Diane muttered, flicking through the papers, looking for anything with Hope's name in it. "It's not for me anyways."

"No," Morrigan agreed, "it's for the girl from the broken home, the God-Touched Child."

Diane paused, turning around slowly to meet those hypnotic, dark eyes, that sly mouth, cloaked in raven feathers as she was. "God-Touched?" she repeated. "No, she can't be…she's human, she'd never survive—"

"Is she?" Morrigan quirked an amused eyebrow. "Difficult to find out with a dead family, I suppose."

Diane glowered at her. "That's an old belief, I don't believe in it."

"Yet you believe in the Beast With No Name?" Morrigan was unimpressed.

"Of course, I do—"

"Only because you saw Him…you saved those children, you took them to the Neitherlands—"

"Well, they were godlings, weren't they?" Diane snapped. "Surely they, surely _Dean—"_

"Godlings are blessings of gods, someone who is God-Touched has a seed planted inside them, only they can grow it into something more." Morrigan snapped and in Diane's hands was a large pile of papers, all with Hope's name on them. "It keeps her alive, just as it could kill her in years to come; that is its nature. She is my Claimed child, but I will bring unneeded danger into her life. She and Dean will be safe from Otherworldly dangers until they reach seventeen…nearly seventeen, I concede, He will attempt nothing further."

"Further?" Diane questioned fiercely.

Morrigan's mouth twisted wryly. "Hope's a warrior, she and Dean were attacked but they're fine…its always been more of a game to Him than anything else."

Diane's hand clenched into a tight fist. "My kids are attacked and they don't even say anything?" she snarled. "Those _assholes!_ I'm gonna kill them!"

"I would enjoy that," Morrigan nearly purred. " _Immensely."_

Diane growled at her. "You don't get to do that. Not anymore."

"You could come back." Morrigan's lips brushed against the curve of her neck and Diane struggled not to melt. "We had so much _fun,_ dear heart…the two of us together…we made stars c _ollide_ , we created art from blank canvas and painted the skies." Her hands were on Diane's hips, pulling her more firmly against Morrigan's chest. Diane felt herself relaxing, sighing as she tilted her neck to the side, the smallest moan leaving her as Morrigan sucked hard. "I could make you _so much more…"_

Diane shook herself violently, pulling herself out of Morrigan's arms. She'd offered that before, but to be ageless when her son couldn't be…surely there was nothing worse? "You know my thoughts on that."

"Hm…" Morrigan's eyes gleamed, like she'd known it wouldn't work, but enjoying how much Diane had been tempted all the same.

Diane looked down at the papers in her hands. So many incident reports…so many documentations on Hope's injuries and accusations and all of them swept under the rug by some doctor…an _A. Dumbledore._ Diane scowled fiercely.

"Do you love her?" She asked Morrigan before she could leave. "Your Claimed?"

A muscle jumped in Morrigan's jaw and for a moment she looked honestly angry. "Do I love my child? Tell me Diane, do you love _ours?"_

"That's not what I meant," Diane huffed.

"If I were to remove her from her so-called family, she would be back with them in a matter of hours. There are other forces at work here, ones that wish her to play a very specific piece in a chess game only a puppet master can see." Morrigan sighed heavily, looking wearier than Diane had ever seen her. "But I do love her…just as I love Dean. I know you won't give him my love, but know that I am thinking of him."

Diane remembered their last fight, Dean barely an hour old. "There are some things you can't protect him from, Diane."

And when she looked back to her, she'd gone, and all Diane could do was sigh.

* * *

"Look, they wrote an article… _An unconfirmed attack on two Hogwarts students by former Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood, imprisoned in Azkaban since he was discovered to be a Death Eater passing valuable intel to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during the War. Both students were largely unharmed and will make a full recovery_ …well, I guess they didn't say your name, so that's helpful," Ron muttered while Hope ignored the attention fixated on her, spreading jam on her toast without a care.

She was earning a lot of stares, but what could she do? She and Dean had been interrogated, politely, but interrogated nonetheless, had picked out their attacker from a slew of pictures, and had slept fitfully. There was a thick bandage around Hope's brow, something which still made Madam Pomfrey uneasy, but there was only one spell that precise shade of green; Hope surviving a second Killing Curse had spread like wildfire.

"How's your throat?" Hermione asked apprehensively. She could see the thin scar across Hope's throat. Madam Pomfrey had said it was a miracle she could heal it so neatly, given the dark nature of the spell, but it had cut deep and there were doubts that her voice would ever be the same. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No," Hope said patiently. "I'm fine."

She probably wasn't fine, but that was neither here nor there, because Hope had classes, lots of classes, some of which required the Time Turner that she was now sharing with Hermione. Personally, Hope thought she'd give it a year and then drop Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, because Arithmancy and Study of Ancient Runes sounded far more interesting.

"If I was given the option to miss out on a few days of school, I'd take that up in a heartbeat," Ron said dryly.

"I'm taking more classes than you," Hope retorted, "I can't just miss a few days, I'll get way behind and I doubt Snape's gonna be that understanding about it."

George slid into the seat beside her, pressing an easy kiss to her bandaged temple. "Doing all right?"

"I'll manage," Hope grumbled around her toast.

"People are asking if you really killed a dementor," Fred added, grinning as he sat across from his twin.

Dementors, Hope had learned, were the terribly ragged creatures that had tried to have a go at her and Dean. Apparently they could suck your soul out and Hope was certain if she hadn't been numbed beyond belief and so unbelievably wrathful, she would've been frightened; as it was, she hadn't had the time to do anything other than run it through with the sword that she'd hid deep in her trunk, wary of having it removed for safety reasons.

"I will neither confirm nor deny," Hope muttered mutinously, quite done with the gossip and not really seeing how she was getting a lot of attention for not being killed by miraculous effort.

_"Hope, did you really stab someone?"_

_"Hope, did you really get hit with another Killing Curse?"_

_"Hope—"_

She was irked and annoyed and everyone was talking about how the guy was a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's followers, but all she could think was: What was one of Voldemort's followers doing with the Blood-Soaked Tree?

Dean was just relieved to be safe and sound, so she didn't want to bring it up.

"You're looking tired," George noticed, his brow furrowed. "Maybe you could've just taken today off."

"I'll manage," Hope waved him off, kissing his cheek lightly. "See you around, Georgie. We've got Divination to head off to." And then the trio were gone.

Lee snorted. "Lucky you two got yourselves sorted out before term started…you haven't heard what some of the other lads are saying, have you?"

George scowled fiercely. He'd heard them. Someone had called Hope's voice 'sexy' and a few others had commented on how well her jeans had fit her the previous day. The idea of calling a thirteen-year-old witch whose voice box was damaged from Dark Magic as having a sexy voice now was annoying and appalling. George couldn't understand it.

Did he think she was a badass? Absolutely.

Did he also think she might be two steps from a breakdown? Probably.

Was he going to tell his not-quite-yet girlfriend that her voice was sexy? _No!_ Because he wasn't a _goddamn_ _creeper_ and had basic common sense!

He stifled his grumbles into his pumpkin juice.

* * *

Their first class was Divination, but, unfortunately, none of them knew quite where the North Tower was located. Also, unfortunately, they had acquired the help of a knight in a painting, and he was, as they soon discovered, quite mad. In the end, Hope was starting to wonder if the class was even worth it if it was so high up in one of the spires, and Hermione and Ron couldn't help but agree with her there.

Professor Trelawney was an oddity, and that was putting it in simple terms.

Hope didn't like her mainly because she was sure she was allergic to the perfume that she had used to fill the room, making her sneeze violently at random intervals, and the one time Professor Trelawney brushed against her, she'd felt uncommonly like she'd been burned, but she was probably imagining it.

"Gods, that's revolting!" Hope gagged after she downed the tea, since they were reading tea leaves, and all. "This mud passes for tea?"

Ron couldn't help but agree with her there. "Best get it over with."

"They better be serving something really good at lunch, is all I'm saying," Hope said in disgust as they switched teacups, "I need something to wash down this filth."

Ron sniggered. "Right, what can you see in mine?"

"A load of brown junk that shouldn't be in teacups in the first place," Hope informed him solemnly, "you're sure this isn't poison?"

"No," Ron said, staring into her cup, "but if it's any consolation, if you die, I die."

"The definition of _true friendship_ ," Hope drawled.

"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Trelawney cried with a dramatic air that was now serving to provide Hope with a massive headache.

Hope grumbled slightly before finally opening up her _Unfogging the Future_ and staring dubiously between the cup and her book. "Okay, so you've got a tilting cross, and that means…you're going to have some 'trials of suffering', my sympathies, mate," Ron sniggered at her inserted commentary, "and you've got a sun here, so…'great happiness'…so you're going to suffer, but you should be very happy about it."

"Well, I think you need your Inner Eye checked," Ron said, trying to hide a snort before inspecting her cup. "There's a blob a bit like a bowler hat, so maybe you're going to work for the Ministry of Magic…but if you flip it, it looks like an acorn…and that's…'a windfall, unexpected gold.' Excellent, you can lend me some…" Hope smirked slightly. "…and there's a thing here that looks like an animal…maybe a hippo? No…a sheep?"

"Maybe you need _your_ eyesight checked," Hope said, "if you can't tell the difference between a sheep and a hippo."

"Let me see that, my dear," Trelawney said, swooping over to their table like an overgrown bird and snatching Hope's cup from Ron's grip. "The falcon…my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"But everyone knows _that,_ " Hermione scoffed, making Ron and Hope, and possibly everyone else in the room turn and stare at her. "Well, they do. Everyone knows about Hope and You-Know-Who."

"Hermione," Hope said in a whisper, "I need you to know that I kind fell a little in love with you because you said that to a teacher."

Hermione pulled a Hope and rolled her eyes at her friend, small patches of pink appearing on her cheeks as Trelawney continued with her reading of Hope's tea leaves. "The club…an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…"

"That must have been the bowler hat," Ron hissed out of the corner of his mouth to Hermione and Hope; Hope's mouth twitched faintly.

"The skull," Trelawney continued as though she could not hear them having a whispered conversation in front of her, which was entirely possible, now that Hope thought about it, "danger in your path, my dear."

"Danger's always in my path," Hope grumbled, thinking of the previous day, "I don't need tea leaves to tell me that."

Hermione cracked a faint smile at that comment, but was interrupted by Trelawney gasping and screaming.

"Oh, what's wrong, _now?"_ Hope demanded, her semblance of a good mood short circuiting.

"My dear girl…my poor, dear girl…no…it is kinder not to say…no…don't ask me…"

Right, because that was going to keep anyone from asking her, wasn't it? She was practically begging someone to ask her what she had read that was so awful in Hope's tea leaves. Well, Hope wasn't going to do it, so better get used to disappointment.

Unfortunately for her, it was Dean that instead asked, "What is it, Professor?" and then enough people crowded around Hope, Ron, and Hermione's desk that Hope was beginning to get uncomfortable.

"My dear," Trelawney said, the drama still obvious and in her voice, "you have the _Grim."_

This did not have the appropriate effect on her, unlike what Trelawney had hoped.

"What the bloody hell is a Grim?" she demanded, because a large number of the class had pressed their hands to their mouths in horror or had gone white; some had done both.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" Trelawney cried, shaking her hands before her slightly as if hoping shaking them would cause her to understand. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear girl, it is an omen –the worst omen– of _death!"_

And miles away a great black dog raced, his forepaws and hind-paws smacking against the ground as he made for Hogwarts with only one thing on his mind; his goddaughter.

* * *

Hope was more than a little eager to get out of the North Tower and make her way down to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was funnier than usual, though this was mostly due to her disapproval of Trelawney, but it still made Hope feel a bit better when she left Transfiguration for Ancient Runes with Hermione. This was one of the classes that she was really looking forward to, so she hoped that it wouldn't disappoint.

The classroom was a bit awing, that much Hope and Hermione could agree on. There was Egyptian hieroglyphics, Scandinavian Norse, and Ancient Greek as well as a number of other symbols that Hope couldn't even come close to understanding strewn throughout the room.

"This…" Hope said in amazement, "is _so_ cool!"

"No kidding!"

Hope twisted around at the voice and grinned. "Hey, Parv– oh, sorry, I almost thought you were your sister!"

Padma Patil was identical to her twin sister, much like George was identical to Fred, but the differences were far more obvious with Padma and Parvati than they were with Fred and George. Padma was obviously in Ravenclaw House, so she wore blue instead of the red that Parvati wore. Padma's clothes were a bit loose on her and far more modest than her sister's uniform, and her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail.

"That happens a lot," Padma assured her, before switching her books to her other hand and holding the free one out to shake. "I'm Padma."

"Hope," she said squeezing it with her own.

"Hermione," her friend added beside her when Padma extended her hand to her as well.

"It's nice to meet you," Padma said politely. "My sister's mentioned you two a few times."

Hope smirked. "Anything good?"

"That would depend on the day," Padma said with a slight smile.

"Find your seats!" a female voice called out into the room and Hope and Hermione quickly grabbed one of the seats closest to the front.

The woman who taught Ancient Runes was not a stern-faced woman, like Professor McGonagall was. Her hair was a light brown, set in wild curls around her face and her cheeks dimpled as she smiled.

"Hello and welcome to the Study of Ancient Runes!" she called out with a bright grin. "My name is Bathsheda Babbling, we will begin with roll call!"

As soon as she had checked everyone's name down, she smiled warmly once more, sitting on her desk in a fashion that would have scandalized Professor McGonagall. "This is a class that delves into the mysteries of the past and unearths the languages that have been long forgotten," she told them, "the main focus of your first years in this subject will be translation and eventually we will touch on warding and barrier-erection that you might find in your future occupations. We will begin this semester with Egyptian hieroglyphics. Today you will be given a specific hieroglyph that I want you to research and find its meaning, an ancient text in which it is used, and what it represented to the Ancient Egyptians.

"Now if everyone would open to chapter one in their books, we will begin with the first recorded history of the hieroglyphs…"

"I'm sure my hand will recover eventually," Hope said as she and Hermione left the class to meet Ron for lunch (as he had had a free period while they were in Ancient Runes and had mocked them a little about it).

Hermione rolled her eyes at the red-haired girl. "Oh, please, it wasn't _that_ hard."

Hope gave her a dumbfounded expression. "Maybe you weren't in the same class as me, Hermione, but that woman can write and talk at the same time and she does them both pretty fast!"

"Like I said," Hermione continued, her voice tinged with amusement, "it wasn't that hard."

Hope mouthed wordlessly at her before shaking her limp hand at her friend. "Look at it! It's got permanent damage!"

"Have George give it a kiss to make it better!" Hermione fired back.

"What am I kissing?"

Both girls blushed at George's sudden voice, his arm sliding into place around her shoulders.

"Nothing!" they said quickly and Hermione made a quick getaway before Hope could threaten more violence.

" _Traitor!"_ she yelled after her friend. "I'll get you, Hermione! Just you wait!"

"Do I want to know what you two were talking about?" George asked in amusement, his arm dropping to wrap around her waist instead, before ducking his head to meet her lips with his, giving her the lightest kiss.

"Probably better to not ask," she admitted, giving him a wink, "ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies, and all."

"Ooh, you _troublemaker_ ," he said with a smirk, "stealing my own words!"

"Easy to steal things when they aren't well-guarded." Hope's eyes gleamed brightly, sinking into the arm around her waist. It was nice, nicer than she'd care to admit.

"Sure," George drawled out. "By the way, do you know why Ron looked like something was going to drop dead in front of him?"

"Dunno," Hope said with a frown, "unless he's still freaked out about that Grim thing."

George froze in place, dragging Hope to a stop as well. "What Grim thing?"

Hope glanced up to meet his eyes and was surprised at how uncharacteristically serious his face was. "George? What's wrong?"

"What Grim thing?" he repeated.

"It's just something that Trelawney saw in my teacup, that's all," she said, not quite understanding what the big deal was. "Why?"

A nervous laugh left his lips, startling Hope who had never heard such a sound from him before. "You do know what the Grim represents, don't you?"

"Trelawney said it was an omen of death," Hope said slowly.

"You haven't seen any recently, have you?" he asked her, searching her with his eyes as if looking for signs that she had. "Any great black dogs?"

"Yeah," Hope said, recalling the dog at Privet Drive, "I saw one the night I left the Dursleys'." Her eyes met his. "But it was probably my imagination," she said dismissively, but George didn't look so convinced.

"Our Uncle Bilius saw a Grim once," George said, still serious, "and he died twenty-four hours later."

Hope frowned. Was the Grim really that scary? It was hard to be scared of great black dogs when the Blood-Soaked Tree and dementors were hanging around; Hope knew which scared her more. "But I saw it weeks ago," she reminded him, "and I'm still alive, so don't worry. That one was probably a stray." She stood on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

She knew what he was thinking about, though. She was almost killed the previous day, she and Dean both…but that wasn't connected, was it?

"If you keep worrying about it," she called over her shoulder as she began to walk away, "then I'm not going to want to go on that date!"

She laughed when she heard him splutter.

* * *

By the time Hope, Ron, and Hermione made their way down to Hagrid's cabin, Ron and Hermione weren't speaking. From what Ron insinuated, she gathered that it had something to do with the Grim. It seemed that they had a similar conversation to the one that she and George had had. Only Hermione had disregarded Ron's concerns completely, which was a little rude, Hope had to think to herself. It was kind of like saying that his uncle died for no reason.

That was one thing you never wanted to say about anyone.

"C'mon, now, get a move on!" Hagrid called as they milled around the cabin. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right follow me!"

"If we're going into the forest again, I'm skiving," Ron muttered in her ear, making Hope smile. They had had to go into the Forbidden Forest just last year to talk to the giant Acromantula by the name of Aragog concerning the Chamber of Secrets, and Hope had been hoping that they wouldn't have to go back quite so soon.

But, luckily, they only went by the edge of the forest to an empty paddock that Hope had never seen before.

"Everyone gather 'round the fence here!" Hagrid called, clearly very excited about his first class. "That's it –make sure yeh can see– now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books—"

"How?" That disgusted drawl could belong to only one person; Hope's archenemy, Draco Malfoy. She was secretly hoping that he would have cooled his heels over the holiday, but that was turning into a vain dream.

"Eh?" Hagrid asked in confusion.

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy said in annoyance.

Hagrid glanced around to all of The Monster Book of Monsters that his students held, noticing how they had them bound in rope or Spellotape or a belt like Hope. "Hasn' –hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" he asked, to which he received a unison shake of the head. "Yeh've got ter _stroke_ 'em! Look—"

Using Hermione's book as an example, he tore the Spellotape that bound it shut and ignored the book as it tried to bite him, running a finger down its spine.

Hope couldn't help but gape as the book shivered and fell open in his hand, seeming to have all the bite taken out of it.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy bit out, his lips curling into an unattractive sneer that instantly made Hope want to smack it off his face with her fist. "We should have stroked them! Why didn't we guess!"

"Shut your fat mouth, Malfoy," Hope snapped, "before I—"

"Before you what? Collapse?" Malfoy smirked as the rest of the class fell silent, waiting on baited breath, wanting to see who came out on top, ignoring the sounds of Hagrid lumbering off to get the 'monster' they were going to study.

Hope scoffed unimpressed, reaching into her bag to pull out her abalone knife, flipping it open, sharp edge glinting and long cleaned of her blood. "How about I slit your throat and stab your leg and see how well you do, because I'm pretty sure you'll die rather than collapse, you _witless worm."_

Malfoy took a step back and a few people coughed uncomfortably. It was one thing to poke fun at Hope for surviving the Killing Curse when she was a baby -if you were feeling particularly cruel, given that the event orphaned her-, it was another thing when she'd survived three murder attempts in three years and lived to tell the tale.

A kid surviving by a fluke didn't have much to stand on, a kid that stepped in front of a friend and took an Avada Kedavra and a spell to her throat had a bit more weight.

Hope's smirk was darker. "I might've collapsed from blood loss, but at least I didn't get so scared that I ran into my boyfriend's compartment and nearly _wet my pants_ 'cause I was so scared." That's what Fred had said anyways, he'd been vindictively pleased and George had been as well, both remembering how depressed she'd been the previous year from the slimy git.

She hadn't meant to use the word boyfriend, she wasn't quite sure what she and George were yet, but it was the best word to describe them.

For those who hadn't heard that, it was incredibly hilarious. Seamus and Dean in particular were rolling around in the grass laughing until tears came out of their eyes.

Hope's smirk widened at the pale flush that had crept up Malfoy's neck to cover his cheeks, but before he had a chance to give her a verbal retaliation, Lavender distracted them by crying " _Oooooh!"_

The creatures that Hagrid had chosen for his first lesson were beautiful in an incredibly bizarre and strange way. They had the bodies of horses, front legs, wings, and heads of eagles. Hope had never seen something like them before in her life.

She could tell that some of her classmates didn't agree, by the way they backed away slightly.

"Hippogriffs! Beau'iful, aren' they?" Hagrid said with a beaming smile, and Hope had to agree with him there.

"Now," he said, beginning his first lecture, "firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud. Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it may be the last thing yeh do." He gestured to the hippogriff with beautiful feathers as grey as storm clouds. "This here is Buckbeak, now who would like to say hello?"

Hope didn't notice how the whole class had taken a large step back, so when Hagrid smiled and said "Well done, Hope, well done!"

Hope reined in her scowl towards her friends, shoving off her cloak and making her way forward with a stubborn stomp. Hagrid was always a 'throw into the wild for fun' kind of person and maybe he thought some chaos would be good after the shock she'd just had.

Maybe not the best idea, but Hope was in too deep now.

"Easy, now, Hope," Hagrid warned once she'd gotten a little close to the hippogriff. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink…Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much…"

 _Great_ , Hope thought malevolently to herself, _that's just great Hagrid, thanks for letting me know._

Buckbeak's eyes were a fierce and fiery orange and Hope accidentally turned her own eyes to the same color, making the half-horse, half-eagle cant its head slightly at her, but it made no move to attack her, so that was good.

"Tha's it," Hagrid said, obviously pleased that she hadn't been attacked ( _oh, joy_ ), "Tha's it, Hope…now, bow…"

That didn't seem like such a good idea, to Hope, but she did as he said, bending over slightly at the waist whilst still straining to not blink her orange eyes, which were growing waterier with every passing second.

For a moment nothing happened, and then Buckbeak sank into a bow as well.

"Well done! You can go and pat him now!"

Hope gave him a shaky smile, but she moved forward (though it was much more slowly than she had been originally approaching him). Only her affection for Hagrid would make her do this, she told herself, anyone else and she probably would have told them to screw off.

But she still outstretched her hand towards the hippogriff, taking one step at a time, ready to pull her hand back in case he thought it was his next treat. After a few tentative clicks of his beak, he consented to allow her to press a hand to his face, under his large eye and next to his beak.

She sighed in relief, patting the feathers there gently as applause erupted behind her.

"I reckon he might let you ride him!"

"What?" Hope's face lost all of its color as Hagrid hoisted her off of the ground. "Wait- hey- _Hagrid!_ This is a _bad—_ "

He dumped her onto Buckbeak's back and she barely had any time to right herself.

"Don't pull out any of his feathers," he warned, "'cause he won't thank you for that!" And then he smacked Buckbeak's hindquarters with one of his massive hands. Hope had to clutch violently at Buckbeak's neck as he rushed forward, flapping his wings under her as he rose into the air, going higher and higher until he was above. That was the point that Hope finally opened her eyes once more and actually looked around her. She had always thought the view from a broom was the best, but this, this definitely topped that.

She laughed out loud as the wind whistled past her body as they flew up and up; circling the spires of the castle before going into a few small dives that made giggles bubble from her lips. This sort of flying was something else entirely, even if it did feel a bit strange. Something about it seemed more… _magical_ than riding a broomstick.

* * *

Dumbledore was going over school records, unable to help himself, comparing Tom Riddle's to Hope Potter's…and he was finding so many unfortunate similarities. Of course, Hope had never been an overachiever, that was Hermione Granger, but she was top of the class in Defense Against the Dark Arts -when taught competently- and was fairly skilled in Charms and Transfiguration. She had chosen four electives, unable to settle on two, like Hermione had, though she'd opted for Muggle Studies.

He'd been so reluctant to allow one student, let alone two, the use of a Time Turner to go to multiple classes at the same time, and the fact that Hope happened to be one of them didn't settle comfortably to Dumbledore.

And then that attack on September first…he had known Lily and James must've enchanted Hope, spells of protection…they'd been utterly brilliant at spell creation, particularly James…such a shame. But that could've explained Hope's survival, barring the possibility he was still considering…

But even if her parents had enchanted her, that didn't really explain how she survived the previous day. She should've been dead, but she wasn't.

And there was a blood rune carved on the inside of her wrist.

It all gave Dumbledore a very ill feeling.

"You have a lot of nerve."

He looked up in surprise to see two unfamiliar figures. The one who had spoken was a furious woman with dark skin, and a nearly bald head, who was imposing as she was beautiful, but the second one was more…confusing.

Dumbledore honestly couldn't tell if they were male, female, or something else entirely. Yellow-lensed glasses were situated on a button nose, hair in thick multi-colored dreadlocks, dressed in a muggle fashion so very different from their companion.

"How did you get in here?" he asked in surprise, vaguely startled.

"I called in a favor with a Traveler," the first woman said dryly, like that explained everything. "My name is Diane Thomas. Dean is my son, _do you understand where I'm going with this?"_

" _Ah_ ," Dumbledore said eloquently. "The attack yesterday."

"'Ah'," Diane repeated in disdain. "' _Ah'_ he says, you heard that right, Quinn?"

"Yup," the aforementioned Quinn responded, fingering a cigarette and not lighting it.

"And you didn't think _maybe_ you should inform parents when their children are nearly _murdered?"_ Diane sneered, slamming her hands down onto his desk. "A god, _a god_ had to come up to me and tell me what happened! What is _wrong_ with you people?"

"Ma'am," Dumbledore tried to placate her, "your son was unharmed—"

"Because he was _pushed out of the way_ ," Diane snarled. "He's not the only one I'm here for. They were _both_ attacked and I'm told Hope's voice may never be the same again and she took _a Killing Curse to the face_ for the _second_ time in her very young life. Just how are you keeping my kids safe in a school surrounded by wraiths on top of murderous raving lunatics outside the walls?"

"They're dementors—"

"I don't give a _shit_ what you're calling them here, they're soul sucking wraiths and they're caging a _school!"_

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh. Quinn was wandering through the office intrigued with the various pictures, still toying with their cigarette, feigning indifference. "I protested their placement, but the Minister ordered—"

"I don't care _what_ the Minister for Magic orders," Diane's fury wasn't close to being abated. "He doesn't have kids at a higher likelihood of losing their souls, does he? _Both of mine are!"_

This muggle woman fighting for her magical child and one she had no claim to would've made the old Albus, the one that had befriended Gellert Grindelwald, laugh, _loudly_. He remembered his reasonings to Minerva about why Hope had to stay at the Dursleys, about how being famous for something she couldn't remember…it had sounded so _vain_ , even to him…but somehow he could sense it, something lingering, something unnatural about the child, something that even he couldn't shape and mold to his will.

Hope Potter was a force of nature outside of his control.

"Miss Thomas," he spoke carefully, "Hope Potter is well looked after by us."

"You'll have to forgive me for _doubting_ that _immensely."_ Diane's lips curled. "Because you left her in that hell, after every _bruise_ , after every broken _bone_ , after actually _dying_ for a solid _minute_ in that accident…you didn't just abandon her, you _caged_ her in an abusive environment. Every time there was an investigation, you made it go away. You made an orphaned child feel _worthless_ , and at Christmas I'm going to tell her _everything_ you've done to destroy her life."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair slightly as Quinn slunk over to wind an arm around Diane's shoulders. "C'mon, babe," they said gently. "Let's see how the kids are doing and let the manipulative old codger stew in his juices."

Diane glared daggers, but allowed her friend to steer her out the door, getting one last rude hand gesture in before the door slammed shut behind them.

Dumbledore sank back even more so, sighing in defeat. Whatever those two were, muggle was certainly far from it…which begged the question; what exactly was Dean Thomas?

* * *

"Mum!"

"Miss Diane!"

"At least Hope looks pleased," Quinn noted, amused by Dean's surprise. "Favoritism, there."

Diane snorted, aching for a cigarette that Quinn had already lit, but she'd once tried to steal their cigarettes in school and it hadn't ended well. "But you can hear her voice."

"Yeah, sounds raw and raspy," Quinn hummed, sliding their lensed glasses down slightly to flick their only eye to Diane. "But it still works, and she's still alive…she's okay, Di."

Diane released a relieved breath.

"And Quinn! Hi, Quinn!"

Hope was beaming widely, parting from her friends to eagerly race forward and Quinn blew smoke out of their mouth quickly to accept the hug Hope bestowed on them. They'd only met a handful of times, but Quinn's childhood had been even more broken than Diane's or Hope's even, currently as it was, and they had a no-nonsense dry sarcasm that Hope enjoyed immensely and attempted to emulate as much as she could.

"How did you even get here?" Dean asked, still stuck on them being in the corridor like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Quinn wiggled their fingers. "One of my specialties. I'll tell you about it one day."

"Nice," Hope grinned broadly, the smile faltering at the severe look on Diane's face. "Oh…are we in trouble?"

"It wasn't our idea!" Dean complained in a huff. "We missed the train because Hope's godfather was in the hospital—"

"He was?" Diane arched an eyebrow. "He's an EMT."

"A minor stabbing," Hope waved it off. "We went by broom, instead, almost made it too, but some asshole shot us down—"

"With a Killing Curse," Dean interjected sharply. "She likes to downplay death—"

"I do not!" Hope complained in that raspy voice that Diane was going to need to get used to. "I've died like…okay, there was once when I was a baby, then there was when I was ten, and then the basilisk bit me at the end of term—" Hope was counting them off on her fingers when Dean interrupted her, rolling his eyes.

"That doesn't count!"

"It totally does! Four times! I've died—Miss Diane, are you okay?"

Diane had pressed a hand to her face, her shoulders shaking faintly before she dragged them both into a hug. "You-you absolute morons!" she said thickly. "You're not allowed to get into trouble until next year."

"Well, no way Hope's gonna make it a year, Mum, you need more reasonable goals," Dean muffled into his mother's shoulder.

"I'll kick your ass," Hope grumbled to him.

Diane released them, cupping Dean's cheek and then lightly touching Hope's throat, eyes flicking over the bandage across her brow. "Oh, darling…"

Hope shrugged. "What're a few more scars, right?" But her smile was a little too pained and Diane's heart ached. "I'll be fine, I promise…apparently people think my voice is hot, which is a bit… _weird._ George seemed pretty offended when someone mentioned it."

Diane was affronted, but Quinn snorted. "Hope, you may have found the last decent man."

 _"Oi!"_ Dean complained.

"Dean, you don't count, for obvious reasons."

"Hey!" Dean and Diane complained as one and Quinn pulled out a pair of glasses, not unlike their own, but with emerald green lenses, and handed them to Hope.

"What're these for?" Hope asked, sliding them into place immediately before going "Whoa! Check out those wards!"

Quinn smirked. "Thought you'd like that. Charmed lenses with a revelation charm bound to them…since you're always going on about mine."

"Favoritism!" Dean complained, only to start at the sound of a bell. "Hey, Hope, we've got Potions!"

"Ugh!" Hope groaned loudly, shoving the glasses into her bag and waving quickly to the pair. "Bye, Miss Diane! Bye, Quinn! See you at Christmas!" And then Dean was dragging her away at a quick jog.

"If Dean had been hit by that spell," Diane said hollowly, thinking about the cut clear against Hope's throat, "do you think he would've survived?"

Quinn sighed. "I may be blessed with Precognition, but I can't See everything, Diane…dwelling on the past can make you forget to live in the present. The kids are alive, they're tough, _breathe."_

And Diane did.

Quinn, though, watched Hope until she vanished completely, frowning briefly. The girl needed training like _yesterday,_ her mind was like an open book and her etheric energy level was concerning. They shook those thoughts off.

"Wanna get some dinner tonight?" Quinn asked instead, returning the cigarette to their lips. "Just you and me?"

Pick up where they'd fallen apart back in school? When Diane had just been a warlock who'd made a deal with the goddess Morrigan and Quinn had been dropped into the psychic discipline for their ability to teleport on command, to Travel between worlds.

"I was basically just propositioned by my ex earlier today," Diane informed them dryly.

"So…tomorrow, then?" Quinn asked.

Diane was startled that they weren't turned off by that.

"We've all been propositioned by our exes," Quinn rolled their only eye, blowing out smoke. "So, next week, then?"

Quinn pulled her close and Diane blinked, back in her house once more. "All right," Diane said, her skin tingling where Quinn was touching her. "Saturday."

Quinn grinned widely. "See you then, babe." And then they were gone and Diane had to sit down heavily.

 _"Fuck_ ," she said emphatically.

* * *

Hope stormed furiously out of Potions not more than an hour later. Her potion had been perfect, which was rare, mostly unheard of, but she'd been using her father's old Potions book with annotated notes, which wasn't really cheating, just using -clearly- more qualified source material.

The potion had been _perfect_ and Snape had taken one look at it, declared she'd cheated, failed her immediately and told her there was no reason for her to continue with the lesson.

Hope was so incensed that she accidentally splintered the door as she threw her stuff in her bag, Ron and Hermione sharing a concerned look.

She ignored the shout of "Detention, Potter!" behind her, clenching her hands into fists. Nath was always getting on her to control her temper but it was really hard to remember that when all she wanted to do was run up to her dorm, grab the black sword and go back to the class and run him through.

Eh. He'd survive. _Maybe._

Hope huffed, running a hand through her hair before seeing a familiar head of red hair near one of the trees close to the Black Lake. Oh, good. She took off before she could second guess herself.

Meanwhile, Sirius regarded any glimpse of Hope as being worth something far more precious than gold or gems. He had known it was a bit daring to sneak onto the grounds, but he couldn't help himself. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't around, but there was a small group of Gryffindors lazing about near the Black Lake.

But then she made an appearance, storming up to them with a scowl on her face, her hair in disarray as she came to a stop next to one of the red-heads who had immediately brightened at the sight of her, only to falter at her expression. "What's wrong?"

Hope dumped her bag next to his. "I need to borrow your lap," she told him decisively, her voice rougher than he remembered, before plopping herself down between his crossed legs, settling herself easily into his lap, situating his arms to wrap around her.

The boy kissed the back of her head and Sirius growled under his breath remembering Hope's comment that he'd overheard, about wanting to kiss someone named George…but how old was this kid? Fifteen? Sixteen? Far too old for her!

(Again, the hypocrisy escaped him)

George's friends (and one brother it seemed, identical as he was to him) started to snigger and give them looks and he glowered at them. "Want to talk about it?"

"It was a perfect fucking potion, that's what it was," Hope grumbled, leaning her head back on his shoulder. "I was using my dad's book and I guess he was brilliant at potions, but Snape accused me of cheating and he voided my potion and failed me, like the asshole he is."

George leaned his head slightly to kiss her cheek. "Yeah, he really doesn't like it when we get the potions right, so we stopped really trying…"

"But he's gonna fail me on everything," Hope complained. "How am I supposed to pass Potions this year if he keeps pulling this?"

"Start righting it down," the girl with dreadlocks advised. "Put into writing what you did and what he said about it, compile it and hand it in to McGonagall before the end of term. Alicia did that."

The other girl nodded seriously. "Works like a charm."

Hope scowled doubtfully and groaned.

"Anyways," George's twin prodded, "looking forward to Hogsmeade, Hope?"

"Fred," Hope said with her eyes shut, burrowing comfortably into her boyfriend's arms, " _fuck off."_

Fred laughed and Sirius slunk away, hunched low and resolving to never give George Weasley -because he must've been one of Arthur and Molly's; there was something definitely Weasley-ish about him- the time of day.

* * *

It was days before Hope finally peeled off the bandage to get a look at her tender brow, now scabbed where the curse had struck her, fracturing like actual lightning.

"How bad does it look?" she asked Parvati, the only one in the room and Parvati had paused, considering her.

"Bad?" Parvati asked. "Or _badass?"_

Hope couldn't help but choke on her own laugh.

* * *

Malfoy was going to ruin her week, that much Hope was completely certain of. After her short little ride around the grounds, Malfoy had somehow managed to get Buckbeak to attack him -not that twitchy little ferret wasn't asking for it, insulting Buckbeak after Hagrid had warned them against it-, and was apparently still complaining about the slice to his arm, which was a load of dung, if you asked Hope. It was only a small slice, it wasn't anything like Hope's leg had been when she first came to Hogwarts, but he still milked it like he was going to fall over dead any second.

"Can you believe that anyone so irritating was ever born?" Hope growled under her breath as they diced their caterpillars for their Shrinking Solution, not really caring how close Malfoy was to hearing her. In fact, she hoped he heard her; she was feeling a little bit more than vindictive. "I mean, seriously! It's his own fault he's injured!"

The blonde smirked at her over his cauldron and she flipped the bird at him in time for Snape to call out "Detention, Potter."

Hope turned her nose up at the man that was the bane of her existence, knowing with certainty that he was going to fail her, regardless of how well her potion came out, and making an ugly face at his back once he'd turned away.

Hermione gave her a look that said "You deserved that one." Ron bumped his fist with hers appreciatively, to Hermione's annoyance.

"Seen your pal Hagrid lately?" he asked them in above a whisper, to which Hope snapped snidely back, "Go bother someone else, ferret." She was pleased to see the pale flush appear on his cheeks at the insult, even mild as it was.

"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," the Slytherin continued, his lips twisted upwards into an empty smile that put Hope on edge. "Father's not very happy about my injury—"

"How about I shove this knife—" Ron started to hiss before quieting instantly when Snape turned his attention towards their group again.

"—he's complained to the school governors," Malfoy continued with a gleeful trill, making Hermione grab Hope's elbow as she clenched her fingers tightly around her silver knife in an effort to stop her from gouging out his eyes. " _And_ to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know ("Father's got a lot of money to throw around," Hope corrected in a hiss). And a lasting injury like this…who know if my arm'll ever be the same again?"

"If the pain is so bad, go to St. Mungo's," Hope seethed, "only, the thing is they can tell the difference between liars and people who are seriously injured. So why don't you take your money and shove it up your ass Malfoy, because sooner or later, you're going to run out of it, and I'm going to laugh when you do."

"Better to have money than to be poor," he said, casting a sneer towards Ron who was twitching.

"Better to be poor with a great personality than to be rich and arrogant," Hope said back.

"Hey, Hope, can I borrow your scales?" Seamus cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife with a lopsided grin that Hope couldn't help but give a smile of extreme relief.

"Sure, Seamus." She lifted the scales from the table to hand them to the Irish boy.

"Did you read the _Daily Prophet_ this morning?" he asked her.

"No, I've been too busy, why?" she asked. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were both proving to be challenging albeit interesting subjects.

"They reckon Sirius Black has been sighted not too far from her," Seamus said, his eyes holding an excited gleam.

Ron glanced quickly to Hope as his dorm mate went back to his table, but Hope gave him a frown in return. She'd told them fairly early on about what she'd overheard with Dean from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before they'd run off to check on Nath in the hospital. She still wasn't quite sure about the whole 'Sirius Black is out to get you' vibe that was apparently encompassing all of the professors who were all being uncommonly wary around her, even more so than the other students. Surely the dementors would be able to stop him if he ever came close to the grounds, wouldn't they? But then, she thought to herself, they had been so helpful before, hadn't they? If he could escape from creatures that didn't have any qualms about attacking unsuspecting third years, well, then the odds were already in his favor.

Just so long as he didn't end up with a sword to kill them like Hope had…but Ron and Hermione had said Professor Lupin had managed to repel them with a spell and that sounded like it might be worth learning.

She bit down slightly on her lip as she concentrated on giving her Infusion of Wormwood a good shake before stopping Ron from adding a drop too many of Leech Juice. She could feel Snape's eyes on her, waiting for her to slip up and somehow cause a massive explosion with a few too many mistakes.

Believe her, it had been done before, with spectacular results. Really. She thought the bright colors looked quite well on the walls of the dreary dungeon, if she did say so herself (which she did). In her defense, she had probably been channeling Fred and George.

She sighed quietly to herself, counting down the minutes until the class ended. Was it really twenty more minutes in this hell hole? Hope groaned internally. The only consolation was that Defense Against the Dark Arts was next, and she was really looking forward to it.

Nineteen more minutes.

* * *

Hope liked Professor Lupin before he'd even done that spell on Peeves, but he also made her uneasy. Adults often did, given how they had a tendency to disbelieve her no matter what she did, but Professor Lupin fit the description of the man Nath liked to disdainfully refer to as 'The Coward', someone who had come to see her in the hospital, yet hadn't stuck around long enough to actually see what a depressive hole she'd dug herself into.

Hope couldn't disagree with that bitterness; she held the same thoughts. But he had a lot of personality. He faked blindness and deafness when pranks happened before his very eyes, and he was very fair about punishments. And to make him seem even better in her eyes, their first lesson was going to be a practical one.

Their lesson took them to the staffroom, in which –unfortunately- Snape was sitting comfortably in a low armchair.

"Leave it open, Lupin," he directed to the much more shabbily dressed wizard. "I'd rather not witness this."

But his next words made Hope's anger spike, turning her eyes a deep blood red. "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust Longbottom with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

Hope couldn't help but scowl fiercely as Neville turned scarlet, ducking his head.

"I was hoping Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," Professor Lupin said calmly, a light smile gracing his scarred face, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."

He watched his colleague sweep out of the room before ushering the class closer to a wardrobe that trembled and shook as if something inside was dying to get out.

"Nothing to worry about," Professor Lupin assured them as Hope eyed the wardrobe curiously and cautiously. She hoped he wasn't going to pull a Lockhart and give them a bit of 'hands-on' experience without telling them anything like how to defend themselves against an attack. "There's a boggart in there."

Hope frowned slightly. "What's a boggart?" she queried out loud.

Professor Lupin spared her a smile, making her lips twitch reflexively. His smile made his face look years, maybe even a decade, younger. "That is the question, isn't it, Hope?"

Hope's cheeks flooded with heat and few people gave a few chuckles.

"Hermione?"

Of course, Hermione had answer; Hermione always had the answers, Hope couldn't help but think fondly.

"It's a shape-shifter," she explained in her no-nonsense voice. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most." Now Hope and Ron eyed the wardrobe apprehensively.

"Quite right," Professor Lupin hummed in agreement. "So, the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us fears the most. However, at this point, we have an advantage over it. Have you spotted it, Hope?"

Hope sputtered slightly at the sudden question, earning her a few chuckles. "But I don't know anything _about_ boggarts!" she said, making the chuckles transform into laughter.

The flustered expression was Lily's dead-on whenever James had tried to ask her out in the most ridiculous ways.

"Give it a go," he offered with a kind smile.

"Er…well," Hope said uncomfortably, glancing around the room as if doing so would help her come up with some sort of answer to the problem at hand, but luckily, this time it did, "there's a lot of us in the room, maybe it won't be able to tell what we all fear at the same time."

"Well put," Professor Lupin said, nodding his head. "When a boggart is faced with more than one person, he tends to get a bit confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug ("Makes you wonder who could be afraid of a slug," Ron muttered to Hope and Hermione who had to stifle their giggles)? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake and turned himself into half a slug ("Never mind being afraid of a slug," Hope whispered, "what about half a slug?"). Not remotely frightening."

Ron sniggered.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple," Professor Lupin continued, his eyes twinkling slightly towards Hope and her friends, making her think that he'd heard their conversation quite clearly, "yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is _laughter_. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing."

"That's it?" Dean called from the left.

Professor Lupin chuckled at the question. "Yes, Dean, just laughter. Now, the charm is _Riddikulus_. Repeat after me, _Riddikulus_!"

" _Riddikulus,"_ the class intoned in unison.

"Good." Remus beamed. "But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."

The brown-haired Gryffindor jumped violently as Seamus nudged him slightly forward. He looked so horrified that Hope couldn't help but feel bad.

"Now tell me, Neville," Professor Lupin continued in a jaunty way, "what frightens you?"

Neville mumbled a few words that the class could not hear until Lupin asked him to speak up and he uttered two words: "Professor Snape."

Of course, laughter ensued at those words, and Neville couldn't help but smile as well.

"Frightens all," Professor Lupin agreed with a thoughtful hum, "and I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Yes," Neville said, tremors filling his voice slightly at the mention of the formidable woman that had raised him since his first year, "but I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."

Hope smirked slightly as more laughter echoed around them, but Professor Lupin was quick to dissuade his fears, assuring him that that wouldn't occur. His next instructions were whispered into Neville's ear so none of the other students knew what to expect when the wardrobe door flew open.

Boggart Severus Snape was just as darkly impressive as his counterpart and just seeing him increased the amount of annoyance that Hope felt towards the man. He moved forward with that perpetual scowl of his permanently curling his lips into a distasteful frown, and for a moment Hope had thought that Neville had lost his nerve, but then his voice rang out, clear as a bell: " _Riddikulus!"_

The effect had her and Ron roaring with laughter (Hermione didn't find it as funny as they did, but she had to admit that it _was_ quite amusing).

Snape, in a green dress, with a fox-fur scarf, with a vulture-topped hat, and a red handbag swinging from his hand. Oh, this would have been _perfect_ blackmail material!

"Excellent!" Professor Lupin cried. "Parvati! Forward!"

There was a scramble to get into line to face off against the boggart, but Hope had a larger concern on her mind; what was it that frightened her most? Honestly, she couldn't say. When she'd told Jeanna, her therapist, about not fearing death, she had been telling the truth. She wasn't trying to be macho or anything, but she had experienced death before, and people generally feared what they didn't understand, but Hope _got_ death.

Her thoughts settled briefly on Voldemort. She had every right to be scared of him, after all, he had killed her parents and had tried to kill her two years in a row, but Voldemort was pushed aside, the Blood-Soaked Tree burning through her memory like fire.

Nothing had ever been more terrifying than that tree, she was certain of it.

So, she waited patiently and watched the boggart twist out of Snape's form, into something more terrifying and grotesque.

There was a man and a woman slumped onto the ground, eyes unseeing, stained with blood, wearing something that must've been more traditional to their family, and there stood a woman, tall and dressed richly, a dark hood up and a flock of moths obscuring her identity.

Parvati took a step back, face ashen, and, immediately, Hope stepped in front of her.

And whatever Professor Lupin had been expecting -Voldemort, James and Lily's corpses, dementors, even- it wasn't that.

But why was Hope Potter's greatest fear a bloodied tree?

Hope ignored it to turn her attention Parvati, who was still shaking like a leaf. "'Vati, I think we should get you to the hospital wing, let Madam Pomfrey look at you."

Parvati's eyes latched on her, like she was seeing Hope for the first time. She nodded silently, seemingly incapable of speech.

"C'mon," Hope said kindly, "let's go." She shot a wrathful glare towards the professor before taking her dormmate easily out of the room.

Parvati didn't speak about it, the woman that had been her greatest fear, and Hope realized she'd never asked about her parents before and she was starting to think they were as dead as her own, killed by a monster not unlike Voldemort.

But Hope wisely didn't ask. It wasn't any of her business as she steered Parvati to sit limply on the cot while Madam Pomfrey looked for a Draught of Peace to calm her down.

She supposed everyone had their demons, and while the Tree might seem malevolent, it was still a tree and Hope figured that she might as well've been grateful for that.

* * *

Hope and Dean awoke later that night in their respective dorms, dreaming of blood-stained bark and twisting branches and bloodied hands grasping at their throats.

* * *

If you've ever had a detention with Severus Snape, then you would know that it was the number one worst detention to ever get. Hope had an awful lot of these detentions and she found them grating, which was her own fault, if you ever asked Hermione about it. At least Professor McGonagall let her work on her homework in complete silence (as all her detention students did; though, Hope didn't get many detentions with Professor McGonagall, she actually _liked_ her). He'd make her scrub at the stains of ruined cauldrons for hours, even though the stains were practically permanent, all the while reading a number of her essays with scorn and pointing out supposed inconsistencies ("Shredded Moonstone doesn't _glimmer_ in complete darkness; it's not a _unicorn_ , Potter."). Hope just thought he was full of a lot of tripe.

By the end of the night, she was tired, hungry, and sore, but she would never let Snape see that as she left the dungeons the same way she entered them, in complete silence.

The first thing she did was find a spare bathroom to wash her hands, thoroughly ridding them of the grime that had accumulated there during the course of her detention, and the second thing she did was find a nice stone bench to rest, because her legs felt a little stiff from standing in the same position for so long.

"Fancy some dinner?"

Hope jumped suddenly at George's voice before smiling as he came to sit down beside her. The moonlight painted silver streaks into his hair and she could see the flames that flickered lowly in the brackets on the walls were reflected in his eyes.

"Dinner was hours ago, Georgie," she said, rolling her eyes slightly, even as he took her hands in his and pulled her, groaning, into a standing position.

"Ah, but there is a table with food waiting for us in the kitchens," George said sagely, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes sparkled. "Really?" Heat flooded her cheeks as her stomach made an audible and obvious growl as if voicing its desire for the food.

George barely muffled his laugh, _barely_. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"More fun than Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Hope asked slyly.

"No, but it's still fun," he said, lifting her completely off her feet and into his arms without her giving much protest; she must have been really tired. "Now all we have to do is dodge a few patrols!"

He didn't have to see Hope's face to know that she had just rolled her eyes at him. "And you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Weasley?"

"As would you, Potter," he said with a conspirator wink. "Don't think Fred and I didn't catch you sneaking out after curfew more than once."

Hope huffed lightly, looping her arm around his neck securely as they descended the stairs. "Star-gazing is not the same as causing trouble, George."

"Hm? What did you say? I'm afraid I wasn't listening."

Hope gave him a filthy look. "Keep talking like that and I might have to have words with your mother."

George gazed at her in complete unabashed horror. "You _wouldn't!"_ he gasped out loud, knowing full well it was an empty threat; Hope and his mum were practically opposites and didn't understand each other in the slightest.

"Possibly," Hope said in slight amusement as he set her –groaning– onto the floor once more before a painting of a bowl of fruit. "So, this leads to the kitchens?"

"Yup," George said, reaching out a finger to tickle the pear in the picture.

Hope stared at him in complete and utter bafflement. "What're yo—"

George pressed one finger to her lips, halting her speech and making her blush at the same time. "Has anyone ever told you, you ask too many questions?"

"You've told me a number of times," Hope said in a dry manner around his finger.

"Maybe if I kissed you, you wouldn't have all these questions," he mused aloud.

"Right," Hope drawled, her cheeks pinking slightly, "well, you let me know how that goes, alright?"

"Ah, but you'd be the first to know," George said wisely, "you'd be the only person I would test it out on."

"Oh, I'm flattered that you wouldn't kiss another girl," Hope said, rolling her eyes slightly as his lips descended on hers, brushing a faint, chaste kiss to her lips.

Hope blinked dazedly as she was released, glaring lightly at him. "Now I know you're just doing that to mess with my head."

He winked. "Would I do that?" The fire cast a soft glow across her face, making the green of her eyes stand out in the darkness and making the color of her hair a much brighter, more vivid red. The scar at her throat and her brow seemed even darker. He swallowed thickly.

"I should hit you," she decided, but she didn't as she followed him inside the room, him tugging easily at her hand, smiling so wide that she couldn't help but replicate it.

* * *

Hope put her foot down about the makeup.

 _"No,"_ she said sharply. "I'm not wearing that."

Angelina held up an eyeliner pen. "This could make your eyes really pop," she tried to wheedle. "George won't be able to take his eyes off you."

"He's already like that," Lavender giggled, looking for the right outfit and Hope shot her a glare.

"George thinks I'm at peak attractiveness when I'm covered in blood and brandishing sharp weapons," Hope replied just a touch dry. "I know, Fred told me." Besides, she'd tested it a few times, pulling out a knife and sharpening rock just to see how flustered he got.

"No accounting for taste," Angelina snorted.

Hope huffed. Diane had told her thirteen was too young for makeup anyways, but it wasn't like Hope needed to impress George with her looks. As it was, she was wearing jeans and probably her nicest shirt in rich red with the necklace George had gotten her dangling from her throat; she could see how his eyes gleamed every day he saw her wearing it.

"Don't worry, you look hot," Parvati said without looking up from her fashion magazine, which didn't exactly give her the best view.

Angelina huffed. "Well, all right, then. See you in Hogsmeade, girl, don't have too much fun with your boy…I heard you both came back very late last night." Her eyes were practically glowing.

Hope's face burned. "I had detention! He took me to the kitchens for some food!"

"Ooh!" Lavender spoke up suddenly. "Was it romantic?"

 _"No!"_ Hope said hotly, trying not to think about how he'd held her hand the whole time, pressing light kisses to the back of her hand when he wanted her to fumble.

"Oh~!" Parvati and Lavender sang as one. " _It was!"_

 _"Shut up!"_ Hope snarled, digging through her trunk, more to have something to do than actually look for something, but she caught sight of her album that Hagrid had given her. She flipped through the pictures, not really knowing what she was looking for until she landed on a picture that she'd removed from her father's room in Potter Manor, with the three unknown boys, one of which was a boy with brown hair and a scarred face…who didn't look all that different from Professor Lupin.

She scowled, grabbing a jacket and stuffing it into her pocket and putting on her shoes, heading down into the common room.

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up from the book that was in her hands. "Yeah, Hope?"

"If George asks where I am, tell him I went to have a word with Professor Lupin."

Her eyes colored in confusion. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "I didn't think you liked him all that much after that boggart lesson."

Which was mostly true. She kept her head down in class, moving firmly to the back and did her best not to interact with him, not really impressed with the boggart lesson despite everyone else's experiences. It seemed that Parvati's had been the worst and a few Slytherins had laughed about Hope being scared of a tree before Ron had snarled them down.

"He's… _fine,"_ Hope shrugged. "It's something personal." She waved Hermione's concern off, heading out the portrait hole and strolling down the corridors until she happened across him. "Professor Lupin!"

The man smiled tiredly. "Ah, Hope, I thought you'd be down in Hogsmeade with your lad." He'd been there when Hope had found out that Fred had cashed in on the pool that apparently the entire school had been in on trying to guess when the pair would date and honestly it was a miracle Fred Weasley was still alive.

Apparently there had been a knife involved.

"I'll be over there soon," Hope said, unconcerned, taking the picture out of her pocket and handing it to him, pointing out one boy, "that's you, right?"

Professor Lupin faltered. "Ah," he said exhaustively, "why don't you come inside?"

Hope followed him into his office cautiously, sitting down silently, refusing the tea he offered her. "You knew my father. You were _friends_ with my father."

"I, yes," Professor Lupin admitted, "we were friends, _good_ friends—"

"And you were at the hospital after my accident," Hope continued. "Nath saw you. You were there and you didn't even bother to check on me."

"No, I didn't want to intrude," he'd noticed she'd been withdrawn since the boggart, but he didn't dream that it had been because of him. "You were alive, you were healing—"

"I was in _agony_ ," Hope snapped. "I was, I still _am_ , clinically depressed, and, according to my godfather, several steps short of suicidal when he came to see me." Her eyes were icy black. "I _died_ , alone and afraid on that road and I was _fine_ with it. _Nath_ brought me back. _Nath_ stayed with me. _Nath_ told me stories. _Nath_ convinced my doctors to put me into therapy. And _Nath_ doesn't like you."

"…Oh," Professor Lupin said weakly, slumping against his chair. He had reasons, so many reasons, but Hope was a fiery thirteen-year-old witch who had been wronged so many times, would she even listen?

"Have a good day, professor," Hope said coolly, standing swiftly and leaving him alone in his silent office.

The upcoming full moon was sure to be terrible.

* * *

As it happened, Hope and George ended up touring the sights on their own. Fred and Angelina were heading off to do a bit of shopping ("Don't have too much fun while we're gone!" Fred had called out to them as he and Angie made a hasty getaway) and Ron and Hermione decided to leave her and George alone.

George squeezed their linked fingers, bringing them to his mouth to kiss them and Hope flushed. "You wanna talk about what had you so upset when you came down?"

"It's not a big deal," Hope assured him with a smile, "don't worry about it."

"It looked like a big deal," George said stoutly, only to blink in surprise when Hope took his cheeks in hand, standing on her tip-toes to kiss him soundly. For a moment he forgot his worries, just remembering Hope after she'd kissed him the first time telling him to try better next time. He sank his fingers into her hair, smirking at the startled squeak she managed to get out. They parted and Hope stumbled slightly, dazed from the kiss, and George wrapped his free arm around her waist, keeping her against him. "How was that?" he breathed against her parted lips. "Better than the first?"

Hope struggled briefly to get her thoughts in order. "Getting there," she rasped out, burying her red face into his chest when they heard a few catcalls. George glowered at them over her head.

"C'mon, Hope," he said smiling, loosening his grip on her to link her fingers with his once more, "where to first?"

"Anywhere you like," she said, looking around with interest, "since I don't really know my way around, or where anything is…"

"Well, first up you've got Dervish and Banges over there," he used their interlocked hands to point, "you'll find a lot of strange magical stuff in there, lots of odds and ends, but they also fix stuff too. And over there," he pointed on the opposite side, "is Gladrags Wizardwear, a clothes store, obviously. You want to start in there?" He remembered Miss Diane's talk with her about getting some new clothes.

"Nah," Hope said dismissively, "where's that sweetshop that Ron's been positively raving about?"

"Ah, a woman of class," George said with a smirk, earning him another eye roll, " _follow me!"_

She laughed as he dragged her through the village, dodging around a number of their classmates to reach Honeydukes Sweetshop.

 _"Whoa!"_ Hope said as they entered. "That's a lot of sugar!" There were sweets upon sweets, piled high and behind the glass panes. And there were so many colors!

"And now you know why Ron's such an addict," George said, one hand in his pocket, counting his spare change. "See anything you like?"

"You're not paying for everything for me!" Hope said aghast, whipping her head back towards him. "What if I decided I wanted to buy the whole store?"

"Then I would be very broke," George said with a smirk, before relenting at her scowl, "oh fine…but your lunch is on me."

"How kind of you," Hope said with a drawl before searching the store with her eyes for something that looked good to eat. The Sugar Quills looked really good, so did the Peppermint Toads, and, of course, the Chocolate Frogs. The Wizochoc would come in handy around the dementors -that's what Hermione had said-, and the Pumpkin Pasties and Cauldron Cakes were really good.

Five minutes later Hope was whistling a tune as her free hand was weighed down with candy, other still clasped in George's.

"Where's your favorite?" she asked him as they maneuvered between the students.

"Do you have to ask?" he joked. "Zonko's Joke Shop!"

He made a big dramatic wave to the brightly show-cased store in front of them, making Hope giggle at his antics. Zonko's was the perfect store for him and Fred, Hope could see that as he dragged her inside. There were enough prank items there to fulfil their wildest imaginations and to inspire some more.

The Nose-biting Teacups and Hiccough Sweets wouldn't be something that she would fancy anyone giving her, and the Frog Spawn looked a bit revolting, but she couldn't resist buying a few Dungbombs, which absolutely delighted George, but then he went and bought some too.

"Ah, we should probably head towards The Three Broomsticks," he said almost as an afterthought, glancing at his watch before giving her a sly smirk. "And here I was having so much fun having you all to myself…"

Crimson pooled over her cheeks even before he bent downwards to kiss her again, and Hope didn't mind in the slightest. Her eyes fluttered shut and reached up to curl her fingers into the fiery locks at the nape of his neck as George's arms held her tight. By the time he had released her, she was appropriately flushed and unsurprisingly breathless.

"Are you ever going to stop doing that?" It was less of a demand and more of breathless question, losing feeling in her left leg again that had nothing to do with how dazed he'd made her.

"Never!" George vowed, pressing another kiss to her lips, though this one was much shorter than the previous one, it still made her burn like the sun.

"If you keep this up, we'll never meet the others on time," Hope wasn't really threatening him, as it was hard to do when he'd moved on from her mouth to pepper her cheeks with kisses.

"Meh," George said with an uncaring air, "I don't think Fred and Angie would mind…I think their mouths would be a little busy…"

 _"George!"_ she said sharply.

"Oh, all right," he said in an all-suffering voice, but Hope cut across him.

"No, not that." She gripped his hand. "I need a minute -my leg—"

George stopped and she leaned down to massage at the left leg. "What's wrong? Did you hurt it?"

"No, I—" Hope huffed in frustration. "My accident destroyed a lot of nerves in it and sometimes it gives me a hard time, that's all."

George frowned, watching how she squeezed the leg. "So, you have a hard time feeling it?" He was guessing that's what she meant.

"Mostly," Hope sighed. "The cold doesn't really help, though…okay it's a little more normal, we should be okay…"

George was still watching her in concern, though. "Don't worry about it, its normal. I wanted it cut off when I was ten, but apparently, I wasn't making that decision while _being of sound mind,_ besides, the Dursleys would've never gone for something that meant they would've had to pay for even more therapy for me." She rolled her eyes, leaning back and testing her foot on the ground before looking up again. "It's okay, really…and weren't you saying the Three Broomsticks has butterbeer? And that its _really good?"_

She linked her arm around his and George gave himself a small shake. "Yeah, it's really good, and—"

Hope waving at Parvati and Lavender across the street who had either been asked by Seamus and Dean, or just so happened to bump into the two third years and were having an excellent time. Parvati and Lavender waved back, but Dean laughed as Seamus cat-called.

Hope rolled her eyes, leaning up to kiss George's cheek with emphasis and glared at them over her shoulder.

That just made them laugh harder.

Hope grumbled. "Bunch of assholes…who's got the boyfriend? _Me."_ Then she backtracked suddenly, because even though she'd been thinking the word and saying it when he wasn't around, they hadn't actually talked about it.

But George was positively beaming, pink-cheeked and absolutely delighted. It was a good look, a _really_ good look. "Yeah?" he asked eagerly.

Hope reddened. "I mean, if you like."

"I like," he promised and if Hope blushed any more, she was going to explode, so she ducked her head and dragged him forward to their group of friends.

* * *

Some of those at the staff table were understandably tense. Professor McGonagall hadn't thought it was a good idea for Hope to even be allowed into Hogsmeade given that Sirius Black was still after her, but Hope had her permission slip signed and there was little she could say on the matter without denying her something she had earned.

Remus' reasons were a bit more personal, as she was the daughter of one of his friends and the very goddaughter of the man hunting her.

"She came to talk to me this morning," he was telling Professor McGonagall, "she doesn't think very highly of me, apparently."

"Hm." Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "Potter's got a lot of opinions how things ought to be and where she fits in…she doesn't have much of a fondness for adults; I gather too many failed her at her muggle school before she came here."

(She didn't know anything of the bruises and the broken bones and even if Hope said Dudley pushed her in front of a car, children did tend to exaggerate. But she would one day learn.)

"She likes you, though," Remus pointed out.

"I maintain a professional boundary and I validate her concerns, should she have them," Professor McGonagall replied. "I am her _teacher._ When she acts out of turn, she is punished, when she does something well, she is rewarded. She knows what to expect with me. You're an unknown variable who look at her and see ghosts of what you've lost."

"And you don't?" Remus couldn't help but be surprised. James and Lily were among her favorite students.

"Sometimes," Professor McGonagall conceded, "when the light hits her just right, I see James and I see Lily…but neither of them were as prone to muggle violence as Hope is, neither of them had a frankly ridiculous obsession with knives as she does, and I daresay neither of them were able to bounce back as easily from a former Death Eater targeting them as she is."

Remus didn't ask if she meant Rookwood or Black, but he still relaxed in his seat as Hope re-entered the Great Hall with her friends and boyfriend, plopping down into one of the seats at the Gryffindor Table and helping herself to some dinner.

"Did you go by to see the Shrieking Shack?" Ron asked Hope. "Hermione and I did."

"Oh, _no!"_ Hope bemoaned. That had been one of the things that she had been looking forward to, and it had completely slipped her mind. "I totally forgot about that! Damn George Weasley, distracting me!"

Hermione hid a giggle, but Ron openly sniggered at her.

"Was it as scary in person?" Hope asked.

"A little from the distance," Hermione had to admit, "but I suppose it depends on how you see it."

Hope grunted in agreement before spooning the last of her soup into her mouth and standing up. "I'm going to go drop off my stuff in the dormitory, I'll be back in a few."

So, she left everyone to jog up several flights of moving staircases until she came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"Ah, hello," the slightly tipsy portrait greeted her, raising a glass of perhaps fine wine (or maybe not so fine; you never knew with portraits), password?"

" _Revocate animus_ ," Hope said clearly, and the portrait swung open with an "And to you."

It was strange to see the common room and the dorms so empty, but there were a lot of students in Gryffindor House, and all of them were either still out in Hogsmeade, trickling their way back to the castle for dinner or were in the Great Hall.

So, she took the steps two at a time until she reached her year's dorm, before tucking her bags into her trunk a bit haphazardly, shutting the door to the third years' dormitory with a snap as she bounded down the steps once more.

However, Hope first encountered a problem with the portrait which did not move at her touch like it did for all those students who wanted to leave the common room. Hope pressed against the portrait, but it was like it was jammed, only swinging free once Hope threw her shoulder against the frame, something that she was almost sure had fractured her shoulder in some way, but she didn't have time to dwell on it as she stepped out and onto the landing.

Where the Fat Lady was supposed to be, where she had been only moments before, were three long distinct scratches like a dog or a wolf had scratched through it. A _massive_ dog or wolf. Her mind instantly flashed to that huge black hound that she had seen over the summer, the supposed 'Grim.'

And then she saw it again, looking directly to the left.

The animal bared its teeth at her slightly before turning on its heel and leaping up the stairs.

Without even thinking at all, Hope raced after it, her wand clenched tightly in her hand, her other reaching for the abalone knife. The dog was fast and slippery, taking a number of shortcuts and secret passages that she hadn't even known existed, and she was finding it difficult to keep up with him, but he never left her sight, no matter how far ahead he got.

She gripped the knife and flung it and it barely nicked the dog's shoulder, clattering against the floor, even as the dog whined in pain.

At this point, Sirius was running into a few problems.

First, and foremost, the Fat Lady had refused to let him inside the common room, in which he was certain traitorous Peter lay. He'd admit that his temper got the best of him a little when he slashed up the painting, but it just in his mind. The second problem arose when his little goddaughter forced her way out of the common room and saw him. And his third problem, and most important problem, was that his goddaughter was now chasing him around the school after throwing a knife, of all things, at him!

She had a good arm, if nothing else, and Sirius was as annoyed as he was grudgingly impressed.

Sirius would have to move fast or she would see him.

So, feeling incredibly guilty, Sirius wound around a corner very fast, transforming quickly back to a human and hiding deep in the shadows there as Hope came to a stop breathing hard, twisting two ways and frowning intently. When she looked in the direction that was opposite to him, he gave her a rough hit to the back of her head.

She crumpled instantly, her world fading into darkness.

Sirius regretted it the instant he did it, catching her limp body mere inches from hitting the ground as he laid her down gently, but there was little he could do now. He grimaced slightly; what would James and Lily've said?

Quite unsure of just what to do, Sirius simply dropped a hand to the top of her head, giving a whispered apology before his body shifted and lengthened into that of a great black dog, lurching into the shadows with barely a glance back to where his goddaughter's body lay.

She'd understand one day.

* * *

Unaware of their friend's predicament, Hermione and Ron were finally making their way out of the Great Hall and up onto the main staircase.

"I thought Hope would come back down once she'd finished putting her stuff away," Hermione said with a bit of concern, "she said she'd only be gone a few minutes…"

"You know Hope," Ron said, giving her an easy grin that made her feel warm, "she probably left out one of her books and got a little distracted by it."

It wouldn't have been the first time, that much could be certain. Hope could be very easily distracted just as she could be easily intently focused. They usually blamed George for getting her distracted, but it wasn't always the case.

"What's this?" Hermione questioned at the mass of Gryffindor students amassed around the portrait hole.

"Neville's probably forgotten the password again," Ron said sagely.

"Hey!" said Neville from behind them, sounding slightly insulted no matter the truth to his words.

"Oh, sorry," Ron quickly apologized as his brother made his way through the crowd.

"Let me through, please" Percy ordered. "What's the holdup here? You all can't have forgotten the password –excuse me, _I'm Head Boy!"_

"Real proud of that fact, isn't he?" Ron muttered to Hermione, making her give him a small smile, which made it all worth it in his mind.

"Get back all of you," Percy said suddenly, dropping the smiles from their faces in an instant. Ron had never heard Percy so serious in all his life, and that was including how he had spoken last year during the basilisk attacks. "No one is to enter this dormitory until it has been fully searched –Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. _Quick!_ "

The person who was the furthest from the portrait just so happened to be Colin Creevey, so he turned and raced down the stairs in search of the headmaster. He must not have been very difficult to find because Colin returned in a matter of moments with the aged, silver-haired wizard trailing close behind him.

"What's going on?" Ginny asked, having just arrived and was now standing on her tip toes trying to see over the heads of the students that blocked her sight, but even that height difference didn't make her tall enough.

But Hermione and Ron couldn't offer her any answer because even they couldn't see through the throng of people, and when some of them finally shifted, Hermione gasped.

The Fat Lady was gone from her portrait, and the canvas that she had once resided upon was ripped as though with a claw.

Hermione didn't even realize that she was now holding onto Ron's hand tightly, and Ron felt no need to inform her of it. Hermione could feel her fear rising as Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Lupin rushed down the hall to Professor Dumbledore.

"Where's Hope?" she hissed to Ron, but she could his same fear reflected in.

"You'll be lucky," a very familiar excessively cheerful voice stated over the group, making a number of them jump in surprise.

It had been awhile since the pair had seen Peeves the Poltergeist. They actively avoided him, like most students did. Hermione didn't fancy an inkwell emptied on top of her head and Ron didn't appreciate having rugs tugged from under his feet. Hope, on the other hand, never seemed to mind the challenge.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" Ron had to commend the headmaster for having such a cool head in the face of Peeves, but he probably had a lot of experience with dealing with the prankster ghost.

Peeves voice changed to an overly sweet tone when speaking to Dumbledore. "Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscapes up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful. Poor thing…" That last bit was the fakest Ron and Hermione had ever heard.

"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, yes, Professorhead," Peeves said in a gleeful manner. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see. Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

Hermione could swear that the headmaster's eyes darkened slightly behind his half-moon spectacles.

"All students will make for the Great Hall," he ordered, and the students were quick to comply, except for two.

"Professor McGonagall!"

Hermione lurched forward, dragging Ron by their still-linked hands (and firmly ignoring the butterflies fluttering rapidly in her stomach as if for escape) to their Head of House.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly, "please follow your—"

"Professor," Hermione said, interrupting her for the first time in her life, "Hope's missing."

Professor McGonagall went positively white, which was a first, Ron and Hermione had to admit.

"Go to the Great Hall," she continued in a would-be calm voice that betrayed her concern for the situation, "we'll find Hope, don't worry."

But Hermione and Ron couldn't help but exchange a look at that, because Professor McGonagall had done something that she had never done before.

She had said Hope's first name.

Now came the real challenge; evading George Weasley as long as possible.

Oh, that was going to be so difficult, Hermione just knew it was.

* * *

If there was one thing that Remus Lupin prided himself on, it was knowing Hogwarts for better than any professor.

So, he was going to be the one who found James' missing daughter.

And it helped that the full moon was tomorrow, so his senses were heightened, and that meant that he could follow Hope's distinctive scent with ease. He traced it from the left of the Fat Lady's portrait, up a few stairs, through a hidden tapestry.

"Hope!"

The thirteen-year-old witch was lying sprawled on the ground, her hair fanning out around her, her wand still clenched in her fist.

As gently as it could possibly be done, Remus rolled her onto her back, propping her head up with his hand as he checked that she was still breathing, which, luckily, she was.

Hope's eyebrows scrunched together as she feebly stirred, her eyelids fluttering slightly before opening to reveal those green eyes that had once belonged to Lily Evans.

Naturally the first thing out of her mouth was: "Ugh, not you."

Remus grimaced faintly, helping her sit up, her hand rubbing at the back of her head, like she'd been struck. He opted to ignore her distaste for him. "Are you all right?"

"What d'you mean?" Hope said, blinking her eyes a few times as if to focus her eyesight.

"You've been missing for about an hour," Remus informed her and she stared uncomprehendingly at him.

"Really?" she said in surprise. "It's been that long?"

"All the professors have been looking for you," Remus added.

"Even Snape?"

Remus almost wasn't surprised at the amount of contempt that her voice held towards the Head of Slytherin House. She was James' daughter after all, and there was some obvious tension between the two. Remus would have thought that Severus would have a bit of a better relationship with Hope because she had her mother's face than if she had been born a boy with her father's looks. But there was also the personality to consider, and Hope was certainly every bit the rebel her father had been, if not more so.

"Even Snape," he agreed before his concern shined through, "did you hit your head?"

His fingers gently probed the back of her skull for any injuries, feeling a small bump that made her wince.

" _Ow!"_ she complained.

"Let's get you on your feet," he advised, "it might be best to let Madam Pomfrey look at your head."

"I'm fine," Hope said, nettled, "I don't want—"

"You're going," Remus said in a voice that brooked no argument. "How did you find this place anyways?" He kept a tight grip on her elbow when she tripped and almost fell, her movements much more sluggish than he hoped.

Hope screwed up her face in concentration, accidentally turning her hair violet, but it disappeared quick enough that Remus didn't comment on it. "I thought…I saw something, so I chased after it…I think?" she sounded more confused than certain, making Remus worry about that head wound of hers, no matter how small it was.

"You think?" he pressed, helping her carefully down the stairs, even as she used the stone rail for assistance, stooping once to grab a pocket knife that looked like it was tipped with blood- _had she thrown a knife at Black?_

"It's all…kind of fuzzy," she said in an airy voice that sounded distinctly like one of his second year Ravenclaw student's, Luna Lovegood, if his memory served him. "I was chasing…it…and then I lost it and something hit me from behind."

Remus clenched his teeth together, almost grinding them. Of course, Black wouldn't want to look her in the face, besides, back-stabbing was his specialty…maybe he hadn't wanted to look at the face that was nearly identical to the one that Lily Evans had worn.

"M'Tired," she murmured. "Can we sleep now?"

"We're almost there," he said, steering her towards the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey?"

The Matron was at his side in a matter of moments, her eyes fastened on Hope. "Oh, Hope! You are bad for my heart!"

"That's probably what George thinks too," Hope agreed with a bit of a slur.

Madam Pomfrey didn't smile as she dragged the girl over to the nearest bed and forcefully pushing her down onto it, berating the girl loudly, honestly, some things never seemed to change.

"Miss Potter!"

Professor McGonagall was the picture of relief at the sight of one of her most troublesome students.

"Yo," Hope said, raising a hand in barely a wave as Professor Lupin left to continue the search for Sirius Black.

"What happened to her, Poppy?" Professor McGonagall demanded of the Hogwarts Matron.

"Only a mild concussion," Madam Pomfrey assured her fellow staff member, tapping the afflicted area with her wand.

"Ow!" Hope complained, swatting her wand away with an apprehensive look on her face. "Careful with that thing, you could poke someone's eye out!"

"I can assure you, Miss Potter," Madam Pomfrey said in a clipped voice, "if and only if I wanted to poke your eye out, would I do so."

"You never know," Hope grumbled, massaging the back of her head as she did so, "even healers can have bad days."

She astutely ignored the filthy look that Madam Pomfrey tossed her way.

"Now, Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall began as Snape entered the room as well, "why don't you tell me what happened?"

Hope was a little more than disgruntled by the kind of questioning her professors had to put her through, and she was far less than keen to talk about it, even less than she had about being interrogated by those two Aurors after she and Dean's less than typical arrival to the school. Mostly because someone had gotten the drop on her and she had never seen their face. Oh, they were going to get it, only with her fist to their face, that much Hope was certain.

"Look," she said, her eyes narrowed dangerously and her arms tightly crossed that it was unlikely that they would ever unwind, "I told you I was hit from behind, I didn't see whoever did it."

"It seems…curious," Snape said in an oily voice, "that you would be in Gryffindor Tower conveniently when Black demanded entry."

Hope canted her head at the greasy-haired man, arching an eyebrow and speaking with carefully controlled strain. "What are you insinuating? That I'm aiding a criminal? A criminal who apparently wants me dead? _Yeah, that's likely,"_ she snapped out the last bit, her irritation edging into her voice.

"Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall warned, but for once, Hope ignored her.

"I think I want to go see my friends now and go to sleep," Hope said flatly, her rings bumping together as she fiddled with her hands. Professor McGonagall could almost swear that the snake ring moved.

"I think that's quite enough questioning for my student tonight," said Professor McGonagall to the small group that had gathered. "Miss Potter, if you would follow me…"

"Gladly," Hope muttered.

The walk down to the Great Hall was awkward and silent. Hope was irritated and Professor McGonagall was disapproving.

" _Hope!"_

Hope was a little surprised by the relief in Percy's voice. The Head Boy strode towards her, his face tense, but his eyes broke the image. A couple of students in purple sleeping bags turned towards her at the noise, but her firm stare made them turn in the opposite direction, though she was sure they were still eavesdropping.

"There you are! Where've you been? The others have been worried sick!" Percy sounded a trifle bit exasperated.

Hope didn't have to guess who he meant by 'others'.

She stood on her tip-toes, searching the mass, but they all looked the same.

"Left side, toward the back," Percy informed her, "I can take you…are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, Percy," Hope said with the barest hint of a smile, " _really."_

He didn't look convinced.

"Well," she wheedled, "I'm a little tired."

He believed that. Her eyelids were drooping slightly and her lips were twitching for a yawn. So, he directed her towards his brothers and their combined friends, and he didn't ask many questions.

The look on George's face was enough.

His questions could wait.

* * *

Though Hope had claimed to be tired, that didn't stop her from staying awake well into the night, feigning sleep, because overprotective Percy -now doing a spot-on impression of Mrs. Weasley- kept coming back to check on her whenever he was free. But Hope kept her eyes firmly shut, her hand relaxed in George's light grip. She raised her eyes slightly to find that Ron and Hermione were doing the same thing.

They all had to quickly shut their eyes, though, because footsteps approached them.

"Any sign of him, Professor?" Percy's voice could be easily made out, even in a whisper.

"No," came Dumbledore's calm response. Hope kind of wanted to see him lose his temper; it would at least be interesting to watch. "All well here?"

"We have everything under control, sir," Percy assured him.

"Good," Dumbledore said with a miniscule undertone of relief. "There's no point in moving them all now. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You'll be able to move them back in tomorrow."

A temporary guardian? That didn't sound good. What had happened to the Fat Lady? Professor McGonagall had never said.

Percy asked her question for her. "And the Fat Lady?"

"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently, she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch restore her."

"And what Hope said about the portrait jamming when she tried to get out?" Hope tried not to react to that. Clearly, he'd had been speaking with Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Potter should have been locked inside the tower," Dumbledore said in a thoughtful voice, "the fact that she was able to force her way out…is astounding to say the least. But it is a mystery to ponder another day."

_Hogwarts will always answer to its heirs whose blood runs in veins through the entire structure._

Hope had remembered that small part in Salazar's little journal. It hadn't really made sense to her at the time, why would it? The way it was written, it was almost as if Salazar considered the castle to be alive, but then, she had to consider that the castle was made from Blood Magick. So, possibly, it could 'remember' the blood from which it had been forged, because, even though Hope's blood was rather diluted in comparison to her grandfather's, she was still a Slytherin.

"Headmaster?"

Hope almost clenched her hand tightly around George's, but that would be too obvious. She took a calming breath.

 _Meditation_ , she thought to herself, _is something I need to really look in to._ Because, really, she was starting to get a little too mad at the sound of his voice. Though, in her defense, he had accused her of aiding and abetting a person that the Wizarding world practically considered a terrorist.

"The whole of the third floor has been searched. He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."

"What about the Astronomy Tower?" Dumbledore inquired. "Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"

"All searched," came Snape's response.

"Very well, Severus," Dumbledore said, heaving a sigh that echoed in the silence, "I didn't really expect Black to linger."

"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" Snape asked of him.

Hermione and Ron had already told Hope of the theories circling through the students, including apparition (which couldn't be done on the grounds), disguise (that one was more likely), or flying (which couldn't be done for the same reason as the first theory). It would be interesting to hear what the headmaster thought about the matter.

"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next," he said.

"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before –ah– the start of term?" he asked, making Hope squint barely in their direction. Oh…it seemed that Percy was still standing close-by, so the potion's professor was trying to block the Head Boy from the conversation.

"I do, Severus." Dumbledore was employing the same voice that Hope used when she was trying to say "I don't want to talk about it" in a fewer amount of words.

"It seems –almost impossible– that Black could have entered the school without inside help." Hope went stone cold. Was he insinuating that Professor Lupin-?! "I did express my concerns when you appointed—" _Oh_ , he thought it was Professor Lupin. Hope frowned in confusion.

"I do not believe that a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," Professor Dumbledore replied shortly.

But Hope couldn't help but wonder why Snape thought it had been Lupin in the first place.

* * *

Everyone was hyperaware of what they were doing the next few days and people were keeping such an annoyingly close watch on her that Hope was getting honestly so close to cutting and running.

So, one Saturday, when everyone else was fast asleep, Hope grabbed a bag and her broom, debating a few moments before grabbing the sword as well, and headed down the stairs and out of the common room. The school might've been on high alert, but no one patrolled at five in the morning; it was a waste of time.

She'd been putting off going down into the Chamber of Secrets until her coursework was better handled, which she thought it was -all her homework was done, albeit because of her tendency to complete her work early in the morning when she and Dean couldn't sleep from the nightmares- and Hope needed something to occupy her time.

Getting past Moaning Myrtle was no issue, flying carefully down the tunnel took a bit more effort, but then Hope was standing before the carcass, vaguely impressed.

It was still intact, barring the shredded eyes and the hole in the top of its head where Hope had shoved the sword through to kill it. It didn't look like it had started to decompose at all, which was impressive, but Hope didn't know a whole lot about how quickly magical creatures began to decay.

Hope avoided the dried splotch of blood where she'd once laid, dropping the bag down beside her and pulling out the folded parchment with several spells listed. One to de-bone the basilisk, separating flesh and bone, one to remove the skin with the scales intact, one to siphon venom from the fangs… She pulled out her own vial to gather some of that before leaving the rest. She'd found a lot of interesting ones in Pithos over the summer and this one would suit basilisk venom just fine, with painted scales on the round base and a stopper shaped like the head of a snake.

She approached the head cautiously with the bulbous bottle and placed it under one of the larger fangs and murmuring " _Haurio,"_ and watching acid green gather at the tip and slowly drip into the bottle.

There were stranger ways to spend her morning, Hope supposed. The bag Mr. Elton had given her was enchanted with pockets for each ingredient, so Hope watched the meat disappear into one, the bones into another, and the miles of snake skin in the outer chamber into a third, but Hope kept the skin that hadn't been shed.

She'd read that the skin was tougher than dragon-hide and was impervious to most spells…and it looked cool, so how was Hope supposed to resist?

And it was still pretty early -she couldn't have been in the Chamber for more than a few hours- when she headed over to the Owlery, using Hedwig and a few school owls to carry the heavy load off to Diagon Alley.

Then all she was left with was the pitch-black sword that hadn't left her after she'd stuck it through Rookwood's neck. She considered it as she pulled out Nath's phone from her pocket.

"Why didn't you ever teach me to use a sword?" she asked without preamble.

There was a moment of silence on the other end and then loud laughter; evidently Nath's previous injury bothered him so little that he had no problem laughing loud and long. " _I thought it was obvious_ ," he mused, " _that you weren't well suited for them."_

Hope huffed, incensed and hung up with him, walking past the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor. "Asshole." She'd show him.

She looked down on it again. It really was a work of art. She hadn't looked too hard at it the night she'd chucked it into her trunk, but it was beautiful, especially to someone who appreciated sharp objects like Hope did. The raven with its spread wings at the hilt had eyes made of onyx gems, the blade growing from its parted beak.

She must've been walking in a circle for longer than she had originally thought because she had to pause and take a few steps back, staring at what had once been a blank stretch of wall but now had a heavy door in clear sight.

 _"Huh,"_ Hope said to herself, seizing it and opening it.

She'd never seen a room like it before. In fact, it reminded her of when Nath took her to the middle of nowhere to teach her to use weapons -something she still didn't understand why it was so important to learn- there were weapons, a lot of them, and targets and a suit of armor rushing at her with a sword in hand.

Hope yelped, fumbling with her sword to block the hit but them kept coming. The suit of armor had clearly never taken a lesson in mercy and it was only later that Hope would realize she only had herself to blame.

"What happened to you?" George demanded, aghast, later when he came down the stairs to see Hope knee deep in an argument with Hermione about how her equation was slightly off - _can't you see? You're getting the wrong answer entirely_ \- a bag of ice to her bruised cheek.

Hope looked up, grinning widely. "Picked a fight with a suit of armor?"

"Did you win?" Fred asked, as chaotic as Hope was on a good day, and positively delighted.

"No, I lost," Hope said dryly, "and, on the downside, Nath might be right about swords not suiting me."

George shook his head uncomprehendingly.

"Just don't use it in front of George," Fred advised, grin devilish. "He might faint."

George turned red, glowering at his brother while Ron sighed heavily from his chair, trying to catch up on all the work he'd gotten behind on, wondering what he'd done in his previous life to earn this lot in life. Hermione giggled while Hope's cheeks pinked, coaxing her boyfriend down for a light kiss.

"Don't worry," she said, " _I_ still like you."

"Thank Merlin," George said impossibly dry.

* * *

November continued, with the days growing colder and colder, but despite that, Hope found herself leaning against a stone rail of the viaduct. It was either here or sitting atop the Astronomy Tower. She always found that it was best to think in the open air, but maybe that wasn't always the best thing, especially in this kind of weather.

She would have been sleeping, in fact, she should have been, but she couldn't, her nightmares plaguing her. Normally she'd just head down to the common room and stay there, but she'd been starting to feel like a caged animal and just needed to get away for a little while.

"Ah, I see you've found my old haunt."

Hope lifted her gaze from the frigid horizon to meet Professor Lupin's eyes. "Hm?" she asked, too confused to be annoyed.

"My old haunt," Professor Lupin repeated, "whenever I needed to get some space, I'd come here." He smoothed a hand fondly over the stone.

Her lips twitched slightly against her will. "From Dad?"

"Sometimes," Professor Lupin admitted. "My friends were a bit..." He struggled for the perfect word to describe them before giving up.

"Can't have gotten up to anything worse than the trouble Ron, Hermione, and I get into?" Hope asked in amusement.

Professor Lupin gave a slight wince. Tales of her adventures had reached his ears. Defeating Voldemort a second time and a third time, fighting a basilisk, being attacked by a former Death Eater and living to tell the tale…yes, she had definitely surpassed James. "Well…maybe not as much trouble—"

She gave a short laugh as he said 'trouble'. "Sorry," she apologized with a grin, "it's just that Trouble is usually what we call George. My friends say I attract 'Trouble'."

"How clever of them."

"They seem to think so," she said with a shrug. She eyed his appearance; his robes were hanging loosely on his thin and wiry frame and he was leaning more on his cane and his scars were more prominent. She frowned, but thought it best not to ask; he seemed so tired these days.

He handed her the photo back, the one she'd left with him on Halloween. "I wish to say something."

"Okay." Hope turned her attention back to the small ink-splattered journal in her hands. There were equations there, far too advanced to be first year Arithmancy; he'd seen something of the likes with the various spells and enchantments that Lily and James had concocted before they went into hiding.

"I'm sorry," he said heavily. "I wish I could change things, I wish you hadn't been in that accident, I wish you'd been safe…I should've stayed but…it wasn't safe for you to be around me."

Hope's eyes were sharp and impossibly black, like looking at James when he was angry. That hurt more. "Not _safe?"_ she repeated thickly, her voice sounding so very rough, rougher than usual. "And who said that?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

Hope scowled viciously. The headmaster always seemed to put her on edge these days. It felt uncommonly like he was watching her annoyingly closely, and why Hope couldn't quite say. But it made her uncomfortable.

"I have to go," she said decisively, hopping down onto her feet. "I've got stuff to do and antidepressants to take, so goodbye."

Professor Lupin balked slightly, but he let her go, a bit flummoxed.

* * *

It was late and the sky was unbelievably black with tiny pin-pricks of silver against the darkness. If Hope had had it her way, she would be out star-gazing, maybe even with George, but she was trying to get through this Ancient Runes essay.

She raked a hand through her loosely braided hair, exhaling a slow sigh and almost dislodging her wand from where it was tucked behind her ear, its tip being used to illuminate the parchment and the book she had lying open before her.

_The Ankh was a symbol used commonly throughout Egypt, and it is a symbol well known in both the muggle and Wizarding worlds. It symbolizes life, but it is also associated with the Egyptian glyph for magical protection, sa. It is also said that the symbol is one of the sunrise—_

Hope stilled her quill at the sound of something she couldn't decipher. She listened intently for a moment longer, and heard it again, the sound of something not unlike a pebble hitting glass. She replaced her quill and ink on the bedside table as she threw open the curtains that hid her bed from view, grinning and flushing with delight as she padded over to the window, opening in slightly.

George Weasley was hovering on his broomstick outside her dorm.

"What on _earth_ are you doing?" she asked in awe, earning her a grin in return.

"Kidnapping you."

"You _do_ understand the idea of kidnapping, don't you?" she asked in a dry voice. "You don't really _tell_ the person you're kidnapping that you're kidnapping them."

"If I did that, you'd freeze to death," George said conversationally, before changing it to coaxing, "come on, Hope… _stargazing_ …"

Her eyes lit with that manic light at the mention of one of her most favorite pastimes.

"I love you so much right now!" she whispered fervently so as not to wake up her dorm mates, leaning through the open window to give him a quick, firm kiss. "I'm going to get dressed, wait there."

George could only mouth wordlessly at the girl as she grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom to change out of her pajamas. His brain was still trying to process that she had said "I love you" to him. Those were three words that the pair had never uttered, but the relationship was so new…she probably hadn't even realized what she'd said.

"Budge over, handsome."

George obediently slid back to accommodate her as she hoisted herself side-saddle onto the broomstick, wrapping an arm around his neck as they shot forward and into the night.

"You know, star-gazing always works better when it's not quite so cold," Hope mentioned in a light voice.

"Ah but I have an ulterior motive," George said, wrapping an arm gently but securely around her waist, pulling her closer to him and enjoying the flush that adorned her face.

"Oh?" she all but whispered.

"If you get cold you have me."

She laughed outright. "Oh, my gods, you are _completely_ terrible!"

"I get the feeling you've called me that before," he said in a musing voice.

"It's entirely possible," Hope agreed as he ducked his head to feather a kiss to her lips. Her fingers curled into the collar of his jacket as he took her breath away, only allowing her to breathe after a number of seconds had passed. "Maybe not the best thing to do on a broom, Georgie," she said lightly.

"And why would that be?" His eyes were gleaming in the darkness as he swayed the broom slightly.

"Because I'll kill you," Hope threatened lightly as her grip on him tightened. "If you make me fall, I'll kill you."

George tilted his head back to laugh at her words. "Already forgotten what you said to me first year?"

Hope screwed up her face in thought as she tried to recall exactly what she had said to him, and then she remembered.

_"George?" she whispered._

_"Hm?"_

_"Don't let me fall."_

_He chuckled ahead of her, one hand squeezing hers where they were still locked around him. "Never."_

"Oh, shut up!" she muttered, "that was a completely different situation, and you know it!"

"Maybe," George sang in an off-key voice, before changing the subject a bit abruptly, "There was something that I wanted to ask you."

Hope leaned backwards slightly to look at him in the eye. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and embarrassed, not always a good combination. "What is it?" she asked, both curious and cautious.

She could feel him twisting his fingers.

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

Hope laughed. "I thought we already settled that?"

George shrugged. "Maybe I like hearing you say it," he admitted, cheeks pink.

He was absolutely adorable "Oh, I don't know," Hope said with a wink, "I've met this really amazing guy."

"Amazing guy?" George repeated with a quirked eyebrow and a grin. "Anyone I know?"

"You might," Hope acquiesced, "see, he's got this pranking thing and he's much cleverer than people give him credit for, sound like anyone you know?"

"Possibly," George said, "and what would you say to this amazing guy if he asked you to be his girlfriend?"

"Hm," Hope pondered lightly, "well, I would say that there would only be one man for the job."

It was only much later that Hope realized that they didn't get much around to star-gazing, but she didn't mind too much.

* * *

The day officially sucked, that was Hope Potter's not so modest opinion. It was five in the _bloody_ morning when she had awoken, the last thing she had wanted to do was be kept awake well into the morning when she could be sleeping, especially since today was the day of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Her temper was bad enough that it could probably boil over a kettle of tea.

First Malfoy claimed that his arm was still causing him trouble, when the truth was he didn't want to play in the weather that was raging outside… _wimp_ (Madam Pomfrey, bless her soul, was threatening to file an inquiry with St. Mungo's if his pain progressed further than the next week; _busted_ ). And now, there was the completely horrible weather outside, she hadn't even wanted to leave the comforts of her bed, but what could you do?

Parvati had tied her hair into a tightly braided bun so that the wind wouldn't whip it across her face too much, so that was one thing she wouldn't have to worry about, she thought to herself as she sat huddled with her Quidditch teammates. They were all so thickly padded down with clothes and the minimum protective gear allowed during games -Professor McGonagall had long since warned Hope that no knives were allowed on her person during the match, and _why was that even a question, Miss Potter?_ -, that all of them could probably fall about fifty feet and still bounce back.

Oliver was the only one who seemed both very concerned, and very cheerful. Hope had to be commended for only threatening to kill him twice.

"If he gives me any more hints, I swear I'm going to take my wand—" Hope muttered under her breath to Angelina who burst into silent giggles as Katie made her lower her wand, for fear of her actually taking up her threat to her boyfriend.

"Calm, Hope, remember?" she asked mildly, "deep breaths, all right? Keep the death threats to a minimum, yeah?"

Hope gave her an unlady-like grunt that wouldn't have been amiss with a couple of trolls. "I've only done two today!" she complained.

"And it's a great start," Alicia said, reaching over to pat Hope on the head like she was a child that had finally done something right. Hope whacked her hand away with a sneer.

"Oh, shut up," she snarled as the girls laughed at her. "You all think you're _so_ clever."

"Very clever, yes," Angelina agreed.

Hope hefted a blunt butter knife at the dark-skinned girl. "I'm not afraid to use this on you, Johnson. I've got _skills_."

"With lock picks," Angelina jibed back, "don't worry, I think I'm safe."

Hope shook her head and mouthed wordlessly at her, completely dumbfounded. "I can throw knives!" Hope sputtered. She wasn't as good as Nath, but was better at it than hefting a sword, that was for sure.

"Wow," Ron said impressed, "I think that's the first time I've seen her almost at a loss for words."

"I must be imitating you, then," Hope said in irritation, regaining a bit of her fire.

" _Rwar_!" Fred said, doing a bad imitation himself of a cat. "Wow! I didn't know you could be this… _snappish."_

"Snappish?" Hope said with a canted eyebrow. "My friend, it seems you are very confused, because this is the wonderful sarcasm that I enjoy employing on a daily basis."

"Do you really?" Fred asked in mock fascination. "I had no idea!"

"That could possibly stem from some serious memory loss that you should talk to Madam Pomfrey about," Hope said in a thoughtful voice, "or maybe if you pulled your lips off of Angie's for five seconds, you would know all this."

There was a collective _"Oooh!"_ from those nearest as Fred's whole face burned brighter than his hair.

"Booyah," Hope said, pointing the butter knife at him know, "you cannot outsmart the master."

"I concede to one greater than I," Fred said solemnly as his twin –who had been surprisingly quiet throughout this whole exchange– sniggered beside Hope, an arm wrapped loosely around her waist. He had known something was different about them, but he didn't mention it. They were much more casual together than they had been before, and that was good. It was hard to imagine one without the other now, even more so than it had when they had first been considered 'a thing'.

"Hey, Pretty-boy," Hope laughed, drawing his attention away from his thoughts and to the black-and-yellow clothed Hufflepuff Seeker and Captain, Cedric Diggory, "ready to lose today?"

"Only if you are," the older boy said in a good naturedly way. "May the best man or woman win."

He held out his hand to her, which Oliver eyed suspiciously, but Hope didn't have the same reservations, grinning as she took it, shaking it once before bumping fists and wiggling her fingers.

"Wait a second," George said, a bit dumbfounded, "you have a handshake?"

"The Seekers do," Hope said with a shrug, "not including Malfoy of course. What? Doesn't anyone else have a handshake?"

"No," they all said.

"Hey, hey, Cho!" Hope yelled over to the Ravenclaw table, making the Chinese girl whom she had bested already on several occasions look up from her seat.

"Yeah?"

"Do the Seekers have a handshake?"

"Definitely," she said with a laugh.

Hope smirked at her boyfriend. "I guess you're not as cool as us, hot-stuff."

* * *

She was born ready for this match, and she knew she would have nailed it completely if Malfoy was playing, because she never lost to Malfoy, he was fair game, but Cedric on the other hand, he was going to require a bit more effort, but that didn't scare Hope.

She was used to giving her all during Quidditch matches, and she was going to show Professor McGonagall that she didn't need anybody to watch her be as good as she could be (because the woman had been downright scary, not wanting her to practice with the team if it limited Sirius Black's efforts to attack her; but Hope didn't care if he did attack her, because there was no way she was losing a Quidditch match).

She thought she would've enjoyed trouncing the opposing team more if it was Slytherin, as she was feeling particularly angry towards Snape who had subbed for Professor Lupin recently while he was sick and he'd been downright distasteful. Hope was well documenting everything he docked her on points.

But she didn't have time to think about that as the whistle blew, barely heard over the raging storm around, and the fourteen players lifted off.

Even with the goggles that repelled the water, Hope was having trouble seeing that glimmer of gold in the ungodly heavenly downpour. It was as if the sky was deciding that it really didn't want Hufflepuff and Gryffindor to play against each other today, and Hope was all for that.

She clenched her hands tightly around the shaft of her broom, attempting to increase her control of it, but even that was difficult.

"Come _on!"_ she scolded herself as she finally caught sight of the tiny ball she had been searching for, for almost the whole game, in between avoiding bludgers. She looked up from her goal –something one should never do, especially not against Cedric Diggory– and that was when she saw him. The great black dog from Surrey. The Grim.

"I don't have time for you!" she yelled at him, turning back towards the Snitch, but the overwhelming sense of dread Hope had briefly felt at the beginning of the year before she'd stabbed the dementor in the face and watched it crumple to ash.

But Hope didn't have the midnight sword up here. She didn't have any of her knives, and she certainly didn't have her wand.

She felt so cold, so very cold, like her insides were being ripped apart by it, and the screaming, the screaming—

" _Not Hope, not Hope, please not Hope!"_

" _Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…"_

_"You can't have her! She's just a baby, you don't understand what you're doing—!"_

She couldn't _breathe_ …she needed to get _away_ …and Hope felt uncommonly like her body had seized up and she was floating away, watching her body slip from the broom, and then she was _gone._

Cedric was inches away from the Snitch when he looked back, something one should never do, especially not against Hope Potter, and what he saw drew him up short and scared the living shit out of him at the same time.

Hope would have caught the Snitch if not for those dementors that were close enough to form a tight ring around her, and then they drew closer and she slipped off the broom, falling towards the earth with no indication of slowing down.

Without giving the Snitch a second thought, Cedric dived after her, a hand outstretched for hers, but it was soaking and the clothes were slippery, it was like trying to grab a hold of an eel.

The ground was getting closer and closer, and Cedric was growing more desperate. A fall from that height could kill someone, and if it didn't kill her, it would certainly incapacitate her.

At the last possible second, he snagged her wrist, barely managing to pull her up a little before they both tumbled to the ground. Cedric's injuries were nothing compared to Hope's though, something he had to repeat to Madam Pomfrey when she tried to look him over as Professor Dumbledore removed the Gryffindor Seeker on a stretcher -limp, arms dangling over the sides- and from the distance, he couldn't for the life of him tell if she was dead or alive.

* * *

Hope blinked her eyes open, looking around in confusion. She was in a place she didn't recognize, so full of warm colors and loose curtains.

"Need to get a handle on that projecting, babe."

She twisted around at the familiar voice, spine relaxing in relief. "Quinn!"

Quinn smiled but didn't open their eyes. They were sitting cross-legged in the center of a sigil drawn in chalk on the floor, hovering a foot above it. "Someone needs to teach you proper mental shielding. I teach a class."

"Uh," Hope said helpfully. "Where exactly am I?"

"Exactly where you want to be," Quinn opened their eyes and it wasn't as jarring as it had been the first time, to see the empty socket where one of their eyes had once been. "Far from Hogwarts, far from toil…somewhere that's peaceful and _quiet."_

Hope coughed politely. "I think I like a little chaos."

Quinn laughed, uncrossing their legs and landing lightly on their feet. "Don't we all, but we don't want chaos all the time…you like to run off on your own sometimes."

"How did you—? Hang on, how were you doing that floating thing?" Hope was being a little slow on the uptake. "Are you a…?" They must've been, right? They'd given her enchanted glasses…but Hope hadn't really put much thought into it.

Quinn sighed in annoyance. "Witchcraft and wizardry have a very different meaning where I'm from…we like to laugh at wand-users, to be perfectly honest."

"So, what are you?" Hope asked flummoxed.

Quinn's fingers twisted together and a chair suddenly collided painfully with Hope's legs, forcing her to sit sharply. "I'm a magician, academically trained. We used to be called wizards but then people confused us with UK magic-users and it was a whole mess." Quinn rolled their single eye. "Our magic is different because we learned it. We weren't born with it, we didn't make any deals, we're just a bunch of stubborn bastards, but you, on the other hand…" Quinn considered her intently. "I still don't know what you are. I'd say Sorcerer, given your family line, and you're far too young to be making any deals with gods - _well_ , that's always up for debate-, but you radiate too _much_ …you're an anomaly."

"I'm average," Hope told them dryly.

"Eh, you're above average, stop selling yourself short," Quinn waved her off, "you work harder and longer than your peers because it takes more effort to understand the theory behind the magic you use in school. No one's a genius at everything, that would be ridiculous, besides, your brain isn't wired for that kind of magic anyways."

Hope eyed them. "What kind of magic am I wired for, then?"

"Diane thinks Physical, we've got a bet going," Quinn grinned. "Personally, I think you're more…catch-all of magical disciplines, but you'll figure that out later."

"I don't understand," Hope said slowly. "I'm so…confused."

"Yeah, astralling does that to you, it's kinda like a bad acid trip…don't do drugs." Quinn gave her a severe look before sliding their signature yellow-lensed glasses into place. "But I could teach you, at least, I could help you get a jump start on it."

"Why do I need to get a jump start?"

"Well," Quinn hummed, "your magic's a little… _weird_. Like Dean's, but more so. Honestly, Dean's more functional than you. That's what happens when you lock a magical core into a body that doesn't need it…I'm explaining it badly, no one did that to you, you were just born that way. Some people are. Their body is a cage to contain the magic, but for others, their body is a conduit through which magic flows like a—"

"A wellspring," Hope said and Quinn snapped their fingers.

"Exactly! Because you're a cage, things that are easy for everyone else, are difficult for you, it just affects how you learn moving forward," Quinn explained. "Wand-magic makes you feel like there's ants under your skin, yeah?" They didn't wait for her to nod. "Cages feel like that, but it's not like you can be taken out of Hogwarts, that'd leave you as half-trained fodder for any monster with a veracious appetite."

"Yay," Hope sound without feeling.

"But you need training, psychic training," Quinn sighed. "We can't have you astralling to the Blood-Soaked Tree every time you have a nightmare."

"Wait—what?" Hope balked, but Quinn was leaning forward, moving their fingers fluidly and Hope was falling into blackness.

* * *

All things considered, Hope wasn't bad off. The bruises were gone, nothing to indicate how far she'd fallen as far as she had, even with Cedric diving after her.

For a painstaking moment, George had thought that she was dead, but Madam Pomfrey assured him that the pallor of her skin was just an after-effect of the Dementors, which was a relief to say the least. It had been lucky that Diggory had caught her when he did, Madam Pomfrey had told him, or Hope's injuries might be a good deal worse.

Hope stirred faintly, turning her head towards him slightly, but she did not awaken, even when he reached over to cup her clammy cheek in his hand, smoothing his thumb over it. He was a little worried that she wouldn't wake up, but it seemed he didn't have to wait long, even if it had only been about fifteen minutes since the game had concluded and ten since Diggory had left with his team with a fervent thank you from the Gryffindors gathered around Hope's bed.

"Lucky the ground was so soft," Angelina said in a hushed voice, leaning slightly into his twin.

"Lucky Diggory caught her," Fred corrected, "who knows how bad it could have been if he hadn't?"

George knew that Fred wasn't wrong there, but that didn't stop him from wishing that he had been the one that caught her.

"I thought she was dead for sure," Katie squeaked, completely white under the mud, probably not the best thing to say under the circumstances. Dean, who was standing with Seamus next to Ron and Hermione, glowered.

"At least she didn't break anything," Alicia said, trying to force her voice to remain calm, "her head was only bruised, so that's good."

Hope shifted again, and this time, her eyes shot open and she lurched into a sitting position. "What the _FUCK!"_

"Whoa! Calm down!" Angelina said quickly, trying to force her back. "Its all right, you've had a nasty fa—"

"Where's Quinn?" Hope demanded. "That-that _asshole_ owes me answers!"

"Who?" most of them asked in confused and Dean coughed.

"Quinn hasn't been here," he said and her eyes fixed on him, furious and black.

"They've got some explaining to do!" Hope snarled, jabbing a finger at them. "Come Christmas, I'm gonna _murder them!"_

George arched an eyebrow.

"I think they're dating Mum, now," Dean offered conversationally.

"That won't stop me," Hope hissed wrathfully. "I'm gonna beat the living _daylights_ out of them!"

"All right, that's my cue," Madam Pomfrey swept in. "Take this and calm down, Miss Potter."

Hope glowered, taking the cup and downing a particularly acrid tasting potion. "Gods, what is that? It's _revolting!"_

"Almost everything I've ever given you is revolting," the older woman said dryly, "now drink this."

The second was slightly better in taste, but not by much. "What was that?"

"Draught of Peace to calm your aggression," Madam Pomfrey said, unimpressed. "You can leave in five minutes."

Hope made a face behind her back. She strode away to deal with a few students who had gotten colds from the weather outside, allowing Hope the opportunity to get all the details from her friends (because Hermione had a tight grip on one arm and George had the other one in his hand without any sign of actually releasing her any time soon) and teammates.

"So, what happened?"

"Er…do you remember anything?" Angelina asked nervously.

"Yes," Hope said dryly, "a couple Dementors thinking of me as their next meal is something you don't typically forget."

All those gathered around her winced at the bite in her sarcasm.

"Well, er," Fred said uncomfortably, sharing a glance with his twin, "you sort of fell of your broom, about fifty feet; Cedric said the Dementors sort of swarmed in on you, he barely managed to catch you in time."

Hope's eyebrows furrowed together, but she must be dead to the world at that point.

"We thought you died," Alicia said, her voice laced with fear, making Hermione quiver and make a small noise as tears welled in her eyes once more.

Hope's mouth set in a firm line. It was different to be in a place where she had people who actually cared if she lived or died…it was times like these that she wished that the school year never ended so that she wouldn't have to go back to the dreaded Dursleys.

"I'm fine," she said, trying to assuage their fears, "you heard Madam Pomfrey, I'll be out of here in no time…did we lose the match?" That should've been the thing that she dreaded the most, but she was feeling numb and drained and with a raging headache.

"Yeah," George admitted by her side, drawing her eyes to meet his. She couldn't help but notice just how pale he was that she could now see each and every freckle that was on his face; he must've been really worried. "Madam Hooch decided to void the points of the Snitch since neither of you caught it before the Dementors got onto the field, so the points were whatever was left. We only lost by ten points, so that'll make it much easier."

"Yeah, Hope, it's not all bad," Fred agreed, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, "if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin…"

"Hufflepuff'll have to lose by at least twenty points," George interjected.

"But if they beat Ravenclaw," Fred theorized.

"No way, Ravenclaw's too good…"

Hermione squeezed her hand and she looked up into her eyes. She and Ron had been strangely quiet throughout the whole exchange, and Ron seemed to be hiding something behind his back.

"Ron?" Hope's eyes fastened on what looked like an oddly clumped blanket. "What's that?"

Ron shared a distinctly uncomfortable look with his brothers, but they weren't going to help him with this one, he was on his own. "Er," he began, clearing his throat slightly, "well, it's about your Nimbus…"

"What about my Nimbus?" she demanded.

"Well," Hermione decided to help him with that seeing as the twins weren't going to, "when you fell off, it got blown away in the storm…and it, it hit the Whomping Willow."

"Oh," Hope said bleakly. "Is that all?"

* * *

Hope must've spent most of the weekend asleep or trying to look up astral projection in the library, and as unbelievably ridiculous as it was, there wasn't a single book on the subject.

"You would think there would be a bigger interest in it?" Hope huffed in irritation. "But _, no,_ I just get a small passage about it 'being an out of body experience that is more fraught with danger than anything else, as many have been left soulless husks from incorrect shielding prior to attempting it', then why _bother_ mentioning it at all?"

"Are you sure you actually astral projected?" Hermione asked, ever the rational, ever the doubtful. "Maybe you were just dreaming? You said you like Quinn, you look up to—"

"Yeah, but I couldn't dream up the stuff they said." Hope rolled her eyes. "Miss Diane went to school with them and she said that they were the top of the class, like _super_ smart, like you dialed up to _twelve—"_

Hermione pinked, flattered.

"—they were the Dean's favorite and _everythin_ g, and I never told anyone about how hard I find it to spells if I don't know the theory behind it because the one time I did in first year someone looked at me like I was an idiot." Hope resituated her bag on her shoulder. "Trust me, there's something definitely weird going on with my magic."

Ron had to concede. "She did take two Killing Curses to the head," he pointed out. "Normal people can't do that…maybe her magic _is_ different."

Hope pointed to Ron. "Brings up a point."

Hermione held up her hands. "I can't even argue because I still have no idea how you're impervious to that."

"Maybe I'm a god," Hope smirked, "stuck in human form. That would be _badass."_

Ron snorted and Hermione rolled her eyes. "That would be likely."

"If I was a god," Hope intoned, miffed, "you would be _smote."_

"I'm not sure that's how it—" Hermione sighed exhaustively, giving up.

As it was, Hope was rather reluctant to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Monday, especially if Snape was going to be there. Apparently, the sentiment was shared with Ron –who had had to clean bedpans the last time they had met face to face (though it had been to defend Hermione, which was very sweet).

"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," Ron decided furiously.

"I'll join you," Hope agreed mutinously.

Hermione couldn't help but purse her lips at the rebellious nature of her two friends, but she could do nothing to curb their attitudes, try as she might. She peered through the door, and was pleasantly surprised to see raggedy Professor Lupin placing graded papers in the vacant spots where students would sit soon enough.

"It's all right," she called to her friends, "Professor Lupin's back!"

Ron and Hope tried to get through the doorway at the same time and just ended up collapsing onto the floor, looking up at the older man who quirked an eyebrow at them, his mouth curling upwards into a smile.

"I take it I was missed?" he asked, his voice flooded with humor.

Hope was feeling pretty impartial to him as a person, but she still appreciated him as a teacher. He'd surpassed Quirrell and Lockhart with ease.

"Snape was awful," Hope felt the need to tell him.

Professor Lupin laughed. "Was he really?"

"Yes," Ron and surprisingly Hermione had to agree.

"He was a tosspot to Hermione," Hope felt the need to add, ignoring Hermione's reproachful sound, as they placed all of their things on their desks. "Hey, you gave me an E!"

She flipped through her paper. "Oh…wrong location, my bad."

Professor Lupin spared her a smile. "We all make mistakes, just be more careful next time, the number of points I dock will be more."

"Right-o," Hope agreed, "mistakes, check, but back to Snape. Utter tosspot! You know he called Hermione an insufferable know-it-all?"

"I apologize on his behalf, Hermione," Professor Lupin said sincerely. "That was very rude of him."

Hermione gave him a slight smile. "Thank you, Professor."

"He's not coming back as a substitute, is he?" Ron asked, his voice on the brink of horror.

Professor Lupin couldn't help but laugh lightly at that. The class began soon after that, and the three had to take their seats. This lesson was far more enjoyable than the last one Hope had had in that room, she had to admit, though she was a little confused as to why Professor Lupin kept her behind after the class had ended.

"I heard about the match," he said, sparing her a glance and noticing the frown that marred her lips, "and I'm sorry about your broomstick."

"Me too," Hope muttered, raking a hand through her hair, unintentionally giving it a more windswept look. She didn't notice him looking away quickly. "So, I guess you heard the Dementors using me for their next meal?"

Professor Lupin winced. "Yes, I did," he admitted, "I don't think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They've been growing restless for some time…" He glanced to her, but her eyes were not on him, nor were they green. They were a hard, black onyx, filled with an emotion he thought he recognized.

"They do not attack you because you are weak."

Hope's lips drew downwards into a frown, the only acknowledgment until she spoke that she had heard what he had said. "I suppose that it must be my charming disposition, then?" she said, her words tinged with bitterness.

"Not even close," Professor Lupin disagreed fervently. "The Dementors affect you worst of all because there are horrors in your past that the others could scarcely imagine." Though there were perhaps a few others in the school that had experienced similar trauma; recalling Parvati's boggart still gave him chills.

"You're saying they're… _attracted_ …to bad memories?" Hope said, her eyebrows furrowing into a contemplative expression.

"Very much so," he agreed. "Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself…soulless and evil. You'll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life." Hope's fingers curled up and into a fist. "And the worst that happened to you, Hope, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," Hope said sourly. "I killed one with a sword…but I can't take it up with me during Quidditch, can I?" Hope swallowed thickly, turning her eyes towards the floor, the words echoing in her head. "I'd never heard my mother's voice before, you know? But I don't want to hear her begging Voldemort to spare me."

She missed the pained look on Professor Lupin's face, but he couldn't restrain himself from placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hope—"

She shook his hand off. "Hermione and Ron said you did a spell on the train, something that repelled the dementor…could you teach me?"

He blinked, his eyes holding the barest of surprise. "I don't—"

"Please!" Her eyes implored him. "I promise I'll work really hard!"

"It is very advanced," Professor Lupin said, "it might not be—"

 _"Please_ ," she said again, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice. Besides, it was hardly a good idea to let someone who was clearly a Dementor-magnet wander around without any protection. "I don't have a problem with putting extra work in."

And that determinedness was all Lily.

"Well… all right," he sighed heavily, "I'll try and help. But it'll have to wait until next term, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill."

There was a loud buzzing that pierced the air and Hope mumbled a quick "Sorry," pulling out what looked to be a mobile from her pocket but Professor Lupin thought that was impossible, given that magic didn't really mix well with muggle electronics. "Hello?...Hi, Quinn…you're sending me—? No, I haven't gotten any—"

Several books appeared out of nowhere, falling loudly onto the ground behind her. Hope rolled her eyes. "Never mind, I've got them…you're gonna make me work through the holiday?...not _all_ of it, they say, _whatever,_ yes, I'll see you soon. Bye."

She stooped to pick the books up.

"Sorry," Hope offered again with a heavy sigh, only faintly amused, "I've gotten a mentor that I didn't ask for."

He frowned in confusion, but didn't have the chance to ask, as she was already tucking the books into her bulging bag and was out the door with a "See you, Professor!"

* * *

It wasn't every day that Hope Potter plopped herself down at the Hufflepuff table like she belonged there, and almost never when she was grinning that brightly.

"Hello," she said in a voice that matched her rather sunny disposition, which was a bit surprising; she was usually only this cheerful when she was with either Ron and Hermione or George.

"Hello," Cedric said, arching an eyebrow at her demeanor.

"I've gotten you a thank you gift for saving my life," Hope continued in a manner similar to one who was commenting on the weather, but Cedric supposed nearly dying was practically a norm for her now.

"Oh, you didn't need to do that," Cedric said quickly and courteously.

"I always pay my debts," Hope said, waving him off, "Besides, I get the feeling you'll like it."

Cedric heaved a sigh. "Alright, what is it?" he said in a despairing voice.

"You ever been to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop in Hogsmeade?" Hope asked in a falsely light voice.

"No," Cedric said blankly, he'd never heard of such a place, or maybe he wasn't looking hard enough. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Hope said with a grin, "it just so happens that Cho is a fan of the food there."

Cedric could feel his cheeks enflaming at the mention of the Ravenclaw that had long since caught his eye, but he had never had enough nerve to ask her out. Leave daring nerve to the Gryffindors.

"I've paid for a lunch in full for the pair of you, under the name Diggory," Hope said, the grin widening at the sight of the red splotches appearing on his cheekbones. "And I've told Cho that you are going to ask her something in a few minutes." The look of unbridled horror on his face was quite comical, Hope had to admit as she actually burst out laughing, before taking the time to walk around the table, pull him upright and push him towards where Cho was waiting, trying hard to not glance over at the Hufflepuff expectantly. "Go and turn on that Diggory charm, and don't do anything I wouldn't do!" And then she gave him one last push before running away faster than Cedric had any time to respond. But he couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't anything that Hope wouldn't do.

Meanwhile, Hope hummed to herself as she skipped down the hallway, pleased at the turnout of her devious little plot. Poor Cedric Diggory just needed a harsh nudge in Cho's direction.

Speaking of relationships, Hope couldn't restrain the yelp in surprise when a pair of strong arms encircled her waist and twisted her around. She had to wrap her arms quickly around George's neck to keep herself from falling.

 _"George!_ Don't do that! You scared me!"

A pleased grin graced his lips. "Oh, can you still be scared?"

Hope rolled her eyes, though her lips still twitched. "Oh, yes, I'm certain there are a number of things I still fear." She grimaced slightly. "I'm pretty sure your mother is near the top of the list."

George couldn't restrain the laughter that bubbled from his lips as well. "Any sane person would have her on their list," he agreed as she stood on her tip-toes in an effort to make herself closer to his height, but that was a hopeless goal, in both of their opinions; he was always going to tower of her. "What were you doing with Diggory?"

She smirked at how amused he sounded. "Worried, Weasley?"

"Not quite," he said with a grin of his own, "I know what your type is."

"Oh, really?" Hope said, enjoying their flirty banter as she always did. "And what exactly is my type?"

"Oh, you know," George said vaguely, "there are five ways to tell."

"Only five?" Hope asked with a snigger.

"One, he's got my eyes, two he's got my prankster attitude, three he's wearing my shirt, four he's holding my girlfriend, and five his name is George Weasley," George said with a wink as he lowered his head to catch her lips with his own, smothering her laughter.

"You're doing that on purpose!" she accused him, her cheeks appropriately flushed from the heat of the kiss.

"I have no idea that you're talking about," he disagreed, but his smirk told a different story. "Anyways, I came to rescue you, and then kidnap you again."

Hope rolled her eyes good-naturedly, gathering that it was highly unlikely that he would ever understand the concept of 'kidnapping'. "And why are you kidnapping me?"

"Oh, no reason," George said, but then he dragged her quickly around the corner, glancing around quickly as if searching for some hidden enemy.

"George? Is something wrong?" Hope couldn't help but ask, her curiosity piqued.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said quickly.

"We just wanted to be sure you weren't followed," an identical voice finished for him, and Hope couldn't help but jump at the sight of Fred, grinning widely.

And then her eyes narrowed slightly. "All right," she drawled, "what're you two up to?"

The identical affronted looks were adorable, but that wouldn't help them.

Fred took the initiative and placed a bit of folded parchment in her hand with a smile. "Think of it as an early Christmas-slash-Glad-You're-Well gift."

She stared at the parchment and then at the grinning pair before arching an eyebrow. "And what exactly is this bit of parchment supposed to be?"

"Bit of parchment!" Fred squawked.

George on the other hand gave her a beaming smile. "That, there, is the secret to our success."

"The secret to your success?" Hope said, her lips quirking. "And here I thought your success was all your own."

"Shh!" George said, his eyes shining. "Don't tell anyone else that!"

"So, what exactly is it?" Hope asked again.

Fred grinned. "Watch and learn, Princess. I solemnly swear that we are up to no good." He said the words and tapped his wand against the parchment and to Hope's astonishment, ink began to spill and spread over the parchment, crisscrossing and curling until a crest was formed over an image of the castle on the front, proclaiming:

**_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_ **

**_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief Makers_ **

**_Are Proud to Present_ **

**_The Marauder's Map_ **

Hope parted the folds with interest and her jaw dropped. It was an extensive map of Hogwarts, a very extensive map of Hogwarts, including the castle itself, the grounds, and what looked like a number of secret passageways. There were hundreds of tiny dots moving around over the parchment, each being connected to a name. She could see Hermione's in the library, Ron's in the common room, and—

"Is that really—?" she started to ask.

"Dumbledore," Fred agreed.

"In his study," George added.

"Pacing," Fred finished.

"He does that a lot," George said, having to get the last word in.

"Seriously?" Hope said in awe. "So, this map shows everything in the castle?"

"Everything."

" _Everyone,"_ George corrected.

"Where they are," Fred added.

"What they're doing."

"Every minute—"

"Of every day!"

"Oh, this is brilliant," Hope muttered more to herself than to them. "I doubt you two made it yourselves."

"Oi!" they said highly offended. "I'll have you know we nicked that beauty from Filch's office first year! When have you ever nicked something from his office in your first year?"

Hope had to admit that she had never had the drive to do so; the only person she really got into trouble with was Snape.

"Mm-hm," she said, only half listening to them, still completely fascinated by the parchment in her hands.

Fred rolled his eyes at his twin, as if to say 'she's your girlfriend'. "Anyways," he said, grabbing her attention briefly, "don't forget to wipe it after you've used, otherwise anyone can read it."

"Just give it a tap and say 'Mischief Managed' and it'll go blank," George explained, tapping his wand against the parchment to show how the ink faded until it looked like a bit of ratty old paper once more.

"You guys are officially my favorite blokes," Hope said seriously, "but Fred, the next time you call me Princess, get ready for a nice slap."

Fred chuckled nervously as George sniggered beside him, the traitor.

* * *

As the Christmas holiday stretched closer, snow blanketed the surrounding wilderness, making Hogwarts look like it was a picture in a fairy tale.

Hope was heading out soon with Hermione and Ron to Hogsmeade for the last visit of the year. She'd been feeling a bit cooped up lately, but she was done with all her schoolwork and she'd read the books that Quinn had wanted her to before the term ended.

But Hope wasn't in a good mood, because, per the headmaster, Hope wasn't allowed to leave the grounds for Christmas because it 'wasn't safe', which Hope thought was absolute bullshit and when she'd told Quinn, they'd been furious.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll sort it out," they'd promised, so Hope let it slip from her mind.

Sadly, the twins wouldn't be joining them in Hogsmeade. Percy had, in a fit of rage, barred them from leaving the castle citing that they needed to make an attempt to study their OWLs which were tests all witches and wizards had to take during their fifth year. Apparently, they made Hope's final exams look like a cake-walk.

George wasn't doing much studying for his OWLs, but even if he had been trying, he would have been very easily distracted by his girlfriend. So, basically Percy had to force her to leave -which she did, looking a little miffed- him alone in order for him to study, but Hope doubted he'd be doing much of that.

"Hope, are you ready?" Ron called over to her, forcing her to drag her eyes from the sight and grin.

"Well, yeah, Weasley! What took you so long?"

Ron's ears burned a dark red. "Sorry," he said, "I lost my gloves, that's all."

Hope smirked. Somehow, she didn't think that was the reason. "All right, Hermione!"

 _"Coming!"_ a voice uttered from up the staircase as Hermione skipped down them, somehow managing not to trip -Hope would never have managed it, that much she knew. Hermione grinned brightly at the pair of them, to bothering to smother her glee at having both of her best friends with her for the Hogsmeade visit. She would never admit it, but she was a little jealous of George because of how much of Hope's attention he got, so she was going to enjoy this visit while it lasted. "I'm ready!"

Hope grinned and linked her arms with Hermione and Ron's. "Come on, I want to check out Honeydukes before it gets too packed and empty of sweets!"

"Hear, hear!" Ron said in agreement, making Hermione giggle, something that earned her a grin from the boy, which in turn made her blush a bright pink. Hope astutely ignored them and pretended that she hadn't seen a thing, but even that was difficult to do.

"I already got you guys your Christmas presents," she said conversationally, "I just need to get Fred something."

Hermione nodded in understanding and Ron grinned that she had already gotten them presents before at least one of his brothers. "What'd you get George?" he asked, not really sure if he wanted to know.

"The _Book of Potions_ by Zygmunt Budge," Hope said with a shrug and Hermione tripped over her feet, gaping at Hope.

"A _book?"_ Ron's brow furrowed. "Seems a bit…impersonal."

"He's totally mental about it," Hope said and Ron stared. "You haven't heard him going on about it? I asked him what he'd do if I got it for him to Christmas—"

"What'd he say?" Hermione asked, eyes still wide; she knew just how important and _rare_ that book was.

"He pushed Fred almost out the window and said he'd marry me," Hope sniggered. Fred hadn't been too pleased, but it there was one thing that could be said about George Weasley, it was that he was absolutely crazy about potion making, which was ironic, given who taught the subject.

They both laughed, continuing on their trek.

Fred would be getting a number of Dungbombs and some potions supplies that she had heard him grumbling about being low on. Ron's presents consisted of a number of sweets and a book on Chess strategy that she thought he might like. Hermione's was only two books -but ones that she had been practically begging Hope to get her in an unsubtle way- and some peppermint toads and sugar quills which were her favorite.

"We should hit Honeydukes before Three Broomsticks," Ron said as they left the shop, his teeth chattering in the cold. "Come on! Please!"

His blue eyes turned big and enormous, the perfect puppy dog eyes, if Hope had ever seen one, using his powers on his two friends. Hope and Hermione gave in, though they weren't much against the idea in the first place, so that helped.

Since they already had sweets gifted to each other, not that they knew that, they settled for merely looking around at all the varieties of snacks offered.

"Would you eat one of these if I dared you?" Ron asked Hope in a surprisingly serious voice as he held out a blood-flavored lollipop.

"Is that how you see me, Ron?" Hope said with an arched eyebrow. "A blood-sucking maniac?"

"On Mondays," Ron had to admit, making her laugh.

"Nobody likes Mondays, Ron," she said, wagging a finger at him, "not even Hermione." But that was mostly because a good deal of her classes were on Monday, Hope was lucky that she only had to go back in time to do Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and with Ron none the wiser, or maybe not.

Ron grunted in acknowledgement before holding out a jar of Cockroach Clusters.

 _"No_ , Ron."

He gave a small pout and Hermione giggled.

"I meant to ask you," she added as they drifted away from the Unusual Tastes section and to the Hot section, "what was that parchment you were pouring over yesterday?"

"Oh, _that_ ," Hope said with a grin, "that was a brilliant gift from Fred and George. It's a complete map of Hogwarts! It shows you where everything and everyone is! It's so cool!" Hermione and Ron couldn't be deaf to the obvious excitement in her voice.

Ron, however, couldn't help but be a little irked. "But I'm their brother!" he complained. "Why wouldn't they give it to me?"

"Maybe because you don't get into as much trouble as Hope does," Hermione said, rolling her eyes slightly at the pair of them, ignoring the indignant " _Oi!"_ from Hope.

"I resent that!" Hope said as they purchased a good bit of chocolate before making their way into the harsh cold December wind, wrapping their scarves tightly about their faces as they battled to get to the Three Broomsticks. The pub was almost completely filled, and it was very noisy, but the trio had no problem with finding a nice seat and a few Butterbeers to sip.

"Oh, _heaven,"_ Ron mumbled into his drink.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's just a drink, Ron," she said in amusement.

"But it's the best drink in the world!" Ron claimed, raising his arms upwards as if he was exalting the Butterbeer Gods.

Hope couldn't smother her sniggers fast enough. "All right, mister, maybe that's enough for you," she said, reaching over to grab the tankard, but Ron clutched the half-empty mug closer to himself.

_"No!"_

Hermione pulled a Hope, that is to say, she rolled her eyes, at Ron's ridiculousness. "Really?"

"It's good!" Ron said defensively as a gust of cold air blew across Hope's face and she glanced towards the door.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had entered the pub, closely followed by Hagrid and the chubby man she knew to be the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. It was strange enough to see their professors outside of the castle, but Hope couldn't help but wonder why they would be meeting with the minister.

Apparently, Hermione shared the same thought -a downside of being friends with Hope meant that there was a significant increase in one's curiosity-, as she had whipped out her wand and uttered a spell. _"Mobiliarbus!"_

Hope didn't recognize the spell, but she didn't have long to wait to find out what it did as the evergreen tree that had been propped and decorated for the holidays rose a few inches from the ground and drifted to the side slow enough that no one noticed that it was moving, so that they were hidden from the sight of the table, leaving them to peer through the branches and shamelessly eavesdrop.

At first, it seemed like nothing unusual, with the ordering of drinks, but it soon became obvious that it wasn't. There were the typical complaints about the dementors and Sirius Black, and then the minister said something that drew Hope's attention completely.

"All the same," Fudge was saying in reference to the dementors that patrolled the square and thus made for bad business, "they are here to protect you all from something much worse...We all know what Black's capable of..." Hope couldn't help but wonder how they were supposed to protect them from something much worse if they kept getting sidetracked when she was around.

"Do you know, I still have trouble believing it," Madam Rosmerta, who was the woman who owned the Three Broomsticks, said. "Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I'd have thought...I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you'd told me then what he was going to become, I'd have said you'd had too much mead." Ron arched an eyebrow at Hope who frowned.

"You don't know the half of it, Rosmerta," said Fudge stiffly. "The worst he did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" Madam Rosmerta asked, "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge and Hermione was frowning now as well; what could possibly be worse than murdering innocent people?

"I can't believe that," Rosmerta disagreed. "What could possibly be worse?"

"You remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta," Professor McGonagall said in a calm voice. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," said Madam Rosmerta, a laugh echoed slightly from where they were sitting. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here - _ooh_ , they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!"

Hope's eyes widened and Hermione had to slap a hand to her mouth to stop her from making any noise that would tell their professors that they were listening in on a very private conversation. Hermione just knew they'd lose mountains of points and get detentions for the rest of their lives.

Sirius Black...now she remembered where she'd heard the name! Her father had mentioned him by name in the letter he had left her! She'd never thought much of it because Ragnok had said neither of her godparents were in any condition to care for her…

"Precisely," Professor McGonagall agreed, giving a miniscule nod of the head. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course -exceptionally bright, in fact- but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers—"

"I dunno." Hope could hear Hagrid chuckling. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money. Or even Hope on a good day."

"Really?" Madam Rosmerta asked in surprise, but then it seemed she had to remind herself of who they were speaking about. "Black and Potter hardly left each other's sides; I almost mistook them for brothers the first time I met them."

"It would be hard not to," said Fudge agreeably. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Hope. Hope has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment her." Hope's eyebrow twitched at how he automatically assumed how she would react, and well as shock that the wanted mass murderer was her godfather. Her _actual_ godfather, the one her parents had chosen, not the one she'd picked.

"Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them," Fudge continued in a tragic voice. "Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

Hope wrenched Hermione's hand off her mouth with a glare before turning back towards the conversation with interest. She'd never heard of a Fidelius Charm before.

Luckily, neither did Madam Rosmerta.

"How does that work?"

"An immensely complex spell," Professor Flitwick cleared his throat thickly, "involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!"

Sounded pretty foolproof, if you asked Hope.

"So Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper?" Madam Rosmerta asked with her voice barely above a whisper.

"Naturally," said Professor McGonagall, repeating Madam Rosmerta from earlier. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself...and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

Hope frowned deeply.

"He suspected Black?" Madam Rosmerta guessed.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements," said Professor McGonagall her voice turning much darker than Hope would have thought possible. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?" Madam Rosmerta pressed.

"He did," said Fudge agreed in a weighted voice. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed—"

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Madam Rosmerta.

"He did indeed," Fudge said. "Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters' death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Hope Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colours as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it—"

"Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" Hagrid said, loud enough that a good number of eyes turned towards the group.

"Shh!" said Professor McGonagall barely above a hiss.

"I met him!" growled Hagrid. "I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me that went ter the Potter house. An' he was there! Had her cradled in his arms, the poor l'il thing, with a great slash across her forehead, an' her parents dead. Never occurred ter me what he was doin' there. I didn' know he'd bin Lily an' James' Secret-Keeper. Thought he'd jus' heard the news o' You-Know-Who's attack an' come ter see what he could do. White an' shakin', he was. An' yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN' TRAITOR!" Hagrid roared loud enough that London probably heard him.

Hope kept her head down while they drank their drinks, only stiffening when she heard her name again.

"Minister, you don't really believe that Black sent Rookwood after Hope back in September, do you?"

"Minerva, I would think it was very likely," Fudge said sagely. "By all accounts she should've been on that train, if she hadn't gone to that muggle hospital, she certainly would've…very foolish of her to go running off on her own, but children these days, no _idea_ of the dangers outside…"

Hope shared an annoyingly dubious look with Ron and Hermione.

"What was the name of that boy she was with?"

"Dean, Dean Thomas," Professor Flitwick squeaked, "now if there were ever a pair like James and Black, it would be those two…"

"I would've thought it would be Weasley or Granger," Professor McGonagall replied dryly. "Thicker than thieves, those three."

"Yes, but James once took a killing curse for Black without a thought, and Hope didn't even think to push them both out of the way, just him…and apparently his mother wants to adopt her."

There was a chuckle. "Well, she's got a family of her own, doesn't she? That's not always a compliment."

Hope rolled her eyes, miming choking.

"And you say James was impervious to the Killing Curse?" Fudge continued to muse. "Something he could've passed on to his daughter?"

"It wouldn't have surprised me. James was uncommonly brilliant about spell-creation. He was also testing out new spells and new potions. I believe when Lily was pregnant, he actually enchanted her body to make it so that spells ran off her like water," the pride was clear in Professor McGonagall's voice.

Hope froze, surprised as they drained their goblets and headed out. "It was my dad too," she said to her friends when their professors had gone. "It wasn't just me…I didn't realize he'd made spells."

"Isn't that what you're doing, too?" Ron pointed out, swallowing down more of his butterbeer. "All those scribblings in that little journal?"

She blinked.

"I might not understand Arithmancy, but I understand the shorthand," Ron rolled his eyes. It was pretty complex and they were the only three that used it.

"It's just scribblings, ideas, not actual spells," Hope muttered, pulling out a few coins to pay for their drinks, darkening her hair and sliding the green-lensed glasses Quinn had given her onto place on her nose so that when Madam Rosmerta approached for their money, she wouldn't know it had been Hope listening in.

"That's just because they're incomplete," Hermione waved off her lack of assurance. "You'll get there. You're top of the class in Arithmancy." She only sounded vaguely annoyed about it.

"Have to be top of something with Snape giving me zeros every week," Hope grumbled as they braved the cold air.

"Yeah, that's been pretty messed up," Ron agreed. "Why bother waiting until the end of term? Just tell McGonagall now."

"Then he'll be downright insufferable until the end of the year," Hope informed him sagely as they made their way into the castle, heading towards the Great Hall. "I'll tell her before end of term exa—"

"—that's _funny,_ because the last time I checked this was a school, _not_ a prison and you can't tell certain students to remain in the boundaries when you don't afford others the same treatment!" a furious voice was snapping and all three paused.

It was quite a scene and a lot of people were gaping, including Dean, who had apparently come forward to greet Quinn only to skid to a stop. Professor McGonagall was pink-cheeked and thin-lipped.

"This is highly irregular—"

"What's _highly irregular_ is that my protégé calls me out of the blue to tell me that her headmaster is telling she's not allowed to leave the school for Christmas but apparently you didn't care about it last year when she was so depressed she didn't want to move!"

Hope scratched her cheek uncomfortably. "Uh, Quinn—"

"Apologies, babe," they said smoothly, "I'm trying to make a point."

Hope looked over to Dean, who shrugged helplessly.

"You can't speak for an orphan. You have no _idea_ what's good for her," Quinn snapped. "But she's _my_ protégé, so _I'm_ the one that gets a say in where she gets her education and I'm starting to wonder if she should come back after the holiday!"

You could've dropped a pin and it would've made more noise.

"Hope, Dean, are you all packed?"

They both nodded quickly.

"Good." They brought their fingers together, twisting elaborately and everyone jumped when two trunks dropped loudly beside them. "Let's go." They ignored how Dean was gaping at them.

"I'll call later," Hope promised to Hermione and Ron. "Tell George—" But then Quinn had taken her hand and she was standing in the Thomas' sitting room and Dean was lurching for a bin, vomiting loudly into it.

"Kids are back, Di!" Quinn shouted and Hope blinked again and the trunks were gone. "C'mon, babes, time for a talk."

"You mean about you having magic and not telling us?" Dean asked archly. "Is that why you wanted to beat them up?" He turned towards Hope.

Quinn snorted. "Like you'd last a _second_ against me."

Hope's expression soured. "I've got a bunch of knives on me right now."

Quinn had to concede to that, even if they had a good two decades on Hope, because the kid could certainly be wily when she wanted to be. "All right, kids, into the dining room. Explanations abound."

Dean gave Hope a look, but she merely shrugged, following Quinn before briefly being embraced by Diane who then moved on to Dean before ushering them into seats and sliding tea in front of them.

"All right, you might've figured out that Quinn can use magic," Diane explained with a heavy sigh. "Well…the truth is, we both can."

"What?" Dean was gaping at his mother. "But you acted so surprised when Professor McGonagall came! And I've never seen you use magic before!"

"Because I don't use it if I can help it," Diane grimaced. "I had to make a deal to get my magic, but I wasn't too surprised when I found out you could do it naturally…Quinn and I went to a school in Greece, Brakebills University of Magical Pedagogy, it was incredibly selective. Down there, there aren't witches and wizards and whatever shit they've got here. There are just magicians, of course, there were different ways students could get their magic. Some were like me, warlocks, gaining magic through dealing with a deity, or sorcerers inheriting magic from other family members, but we've always preferred 'magician', it's a bit more all-inclusive."

Hope sipped her tea quietly, listening intently.

"We're telling you this now because _someone_ has been accidentally astral-projecting in their sleep," Quinn said dryly and Hope sunk a little further into her chair. "Which isn't your fault, but you need training and there was no way that Dean wasn't going to find out about—"

Dean stood furiously, storming up the stairs without a glance back. Diane sighed heavily. "You know sometimes he reminds me so much of…well, I'll go talk to him." She stood slower than her son and Quinn caught her hand briefly to kiss the back of it before releasing her to head up the stairs.

"Now, _you_ , you're the problem child," Quinn told Hope a bit directly and Hope scowled. "Do you know what Traveling is?"

"I'm guessing it's not actual traveling?" Hope guessed.

Quinn's mouth twisted faintly. "No. Traveling with a capital T. It's basically teleportation a bit like your Flashing, the only difference is I can move between worlds if I must…we're not entirely human, but we've been around so long that no one's exactly sure what the not-human bit is." Quinn shrugged. "Honestly, it's not too important. I started Traveling when I was very young, but when I got to Brakebills, my teachers were worried I might accidentally dream about a volcano and end up inside one."

"Oh," Hope stared. "I did something like that once. I woke up in the Forbidden Forest even though I went to sleep in my bed."

"Hm." Quinn was unimpressed. "Astralling is the first step to mastering Traveling. You might not be a Traveler, but there are still places and people in this world that are dangerous, especially for you. And you've got a lot of untapped psychic energy."

"Huh?"

"Probably from being a child of abuse and having to swallow your tongue a lot," Quinn continued like they hadn't heard her. "So come with me, you're gonna learn something decent like meditating and guarding your mind, you know something you'll actually use, unlike what you're taught at that school of yours."

Their teeth bared. "You're gonna wish you're dead when I'm done with you."

Hope swallowed thickly.

* * *

"So, you are coming back, right?" Hermione pressed.

The mirror had been expanded like it had been over the summer and she and Ron were holding it between them, to see a tired Hope propped up on some pillows, looking exhausted but pleased.

"Oh, yeah, that was a total bluff," Hope assured them, "The only thing Quinn hates more than wand-users is half-trained wand-users."

There was a breath of relief.

"What're they even having you do?" Ron asked befuddled, "what're they mentoring you in?"

"Psychic magic, mostly," Hope admitted, "right now we're working on Astral Projection, which is way easier to learn than half the practical magic we've been learning in class, honestly. Quinn's more worried about me flashing myself into a volcano in my sleep."

"Yikes," they all said as one.

"So, I've got a tattooed sigil on my arm to ground me to the physical realm," Hope huffed. "No more flashing, also not as fun as you would think—"

"You're thirteen!" Hermione said aghast, looking at the anchor sigil tattooed onto her arm, still red and inflamed from the needle.

"But they want me to eat up my 'etheric energy' because apparently that's my biggest problem." Hope rolled her eyes. "Maybe I should just try to astral to the Blood—"

There was an emphatic "No," beside her and Hope shifted the mirror so they could see the Dean laying on his bed, pencil etching over his page. "That's _why_ Quinn's teaching you in the first place, so you don't end up somewhere you shouldn't be."

Hope came back into view. "Dean's been salty since finding out his mum can do magic."

Dean's glower was visible beyond her head. "Am not."

"Whatcha working on?"

"Crookshanks."

Hope arched an eyebrow as he showed a realistic sketch of the cat in question, making Ron scowl and Hermione clap her hands delightedly. "Why?"

"Because he's my idol, obviously."

"You can't hate her forever."

"Yes, I can, she's _my_ mother," Dean snapped and they winced at the flash of hurt across Hope's face. "No, wait, I'm _sorry—"_

"I'll talk to you guys later," Hope said suddenly, shutting the mirror swiftly.

* * *

"You should be in bed."

Hope looked up from one of the heavy tomes that Quinn had given her, in covered practically everything psychic from astral projection to premonition to divination. Hope had thought it was a soft subject at first, but that was because of whatever Trelawney considered Divination was complete crap and Hope was pulling out of that class as soon as she went back to school because it was a complete waste of time.

"Can't sleep," she said as Diane settled onto the couch beside her. "Figured I'd do some more reading."

Diane rubbed at the back of her head. "You can tell Quinn if it's too much, you know, you're only thirteen learning what they learned at twenty-three."

"No, I can take it," Hope insisted. "This stuff is way more interesting than what I do at school, less complicated too…I just don't get why."

"Why?" Diane asked with a furrowed brow.

"I mean, the first time I actually flashed in my sleep was in first year…I haven't really done anything like that in a while…" Hope frowned a little. "There's got to be more to it than that, right?"

Diane's mouth thinned. "You know Quinn's a professor, right?" Hope bobbed her head. "They cover several fields of study. Their classes are very advanced, very selective, but they don't take on students as protégés, no exceptions…not _anymore_. They only ever had one, barely after graduating, a traveler, rare and skilled beyond compare. Her name was Victoria...I don't know really what happened, but she was helping in the war effort, the one that killed your parents." Hope looked away quickly. "She was more of a researcher than a fighter, but she must've found something, something important, because when Quinn found her, she'd been torn apart, and Quinn knew it was going to happen, but they thought it was just a nightmare. Victoria was in a war, of course Quinn would worry… so they didn't say anything."

"Oh," Hope said quietly.

"They haven't had a student since then, much less one that wasn't a traveler. For whatever reason, they think you need to learn psychic magic, so I would take the time to listen very well to whatever they have to say."

"But why psychic magic?" Hope asked. "I mean, I understand it and all…but I hate Divination."

Diane smirked. "Whatever you're learning in school isn't much in psychic magic, but it's different at Brakebills. See, you get split up into magical disciplines based on your innate talents, and psychic is one of the larger ones, relating to, affecting, and being influenced by the mind. Magicians like Quinn can have extrasensory perception and telepathy, which they say can be a curse." She huffed in amusement before growing serious. "But given your magical potential, I think they're more concerned what other psychic magic could affect you…mind control, for one, also dream manipulation, you've already experienced that, as well as memory magic."

"My memory? Someone's messed with it?" Hope couldn't help but be startled.

"Not recently," Diane conceded, "there's a patch on your memory that's years old, but it being placed opened your mind to being sensitive to mental incursion. It's like…think of an old wall that's been chipped away so that there are holes that others can squeeze through. That's what your mental protection is right now. Quinn's teachings can help you patch those holes or build an entirely formidable defense in case anyone tries to capitalize on how vulnerable your mind is."

Hope thought of the visceral nightmares that had plagued her for years, the Blood-Soaked Tree. "Could that be why my nightmares are so bad?"

"Not entirely," Diane had to admit. "Some fears are ingrained, they're difficult to get rid of without destroying the root of it…Quinn's always liked you but you're also a…how should I say it? An unstable force they've never seen before."

"Unstable?" Hope hated that word.

Diane grasped her hand. "I don't mean mentally unstable, Hope, I mean magically unstable…magic tends to explode out of you and that's not normal. Quinn doesn't believe in fixing people; they believe in giving people the tools they need to function. You're not broken."

"Just damaged," Hope muttered, rubbing at the back of her head.

Diane sighed heavily. "We're all damaged, darling. Turn your scars into armor."

Hope blinked. She'd never thought about it like that. Her mirror heated up suddenly and she was appropriately distracted, opening it immediately, delighted when she saw the face on the opposite side. "George! It's like…two in the morning! Go to sleep!"

Diane spared her a wink, heading back upstairs in time to hear "Pot, kettle, Potter," and "You are lucky you're so cute."

It was better that she hadn't told Hope the whole story, right? About how Quinn had lurched awake in the night, skin ashen and covered in a sheen of sweat, clutching at their eyeless socket as though it was burning them from the inside out. They'd turned to Diane with utter surety and said "That kid is going to end up dead if we do nothing."

Diane had nightmares about that.

* * *

"I'll go to sleep when _you_ go to sleep."

" _Ugh,"_ Hope complained, "you're the worst! You're half-asleep already, Georgie."

"Am not." George scrubbed at his eyes stubbornly. "You wanna talk about what's really bothering you? The thing that Hermione and Ron don't want to talk to anyone about?"

Hope huffed, running a hand through her hair. "It's nothing, its—" He gave her a very direct look that he didn't pull off very well, given how sleepy he was, which was, frankly, adorable. "We just overheard some professors and the minister talking in the Three Broomsticks."

"About what?" George asked, waking up a bit more.

"You know my godfather?"

"Nath?" She talked about him from time to time, and sometimes he'd hear her talking to him on that muggle device she called a mobile. "What about him?"

"Well, I call him my godfather, but he's not really." Hope sighed. "The godfather my parents named was Sirius Black."

George paused. "Oh," he said. " _Shit."_

"Yeah, that about sums it up." Hope sighed. "I don't know…everyone says Black's the bad guy, he killed all these people, he betrayed my parents…but they just threw him into jail without a trial? Isn't that a bit weird?"

"I mean, yeah, but it was during the War, they probably did that with suspected Death Eaters," George offered reasonably.

"Yeah, but Ron says that Death Eaters have this mark—"

"The Dark Mark, yeah," George grimaced, "Mum and Dad talked about it before. People were scared to death of it."

Hope sighed. "I'm just used to being the one people blame without reason, I don't know, maybe it's just me… _projecting_ -a lot of that going around- but everyone's expecting me to be angry and want to go after this guy, but it's not like it's Voldemort, I know he's responsible, but—" She twisted her hair around her finger. "I've got other things to worry about than a 'maybe-betrayer' of my parents. I've got school, I've got this stuff Quinn's having me on—"

"Then don't worry about," George advised before giving her a smile. "I miss you."

"Miss you too," Hope said, cheeks pink. "But I'll be back in January, promise, Quinn just likes throwing their weight around…and that map is brilliant, but I think it's missing one room." Her eyes glittered. "You should go to the fourth floor. There's this empty patch of wall and all you have to say is _'Give me a place to stand and I will move the earth'_."

George gaped. "Wait—"

" _Bye,"_ Hope said cheerily, blowing him a kiss and shutting the mirror, her smile falling as she slid out the piece torn out of the paper. It was an obituary.

_Marjorie Eileen Dursley, age 47, of Sussex, died October 22 of an unexpected heart attack. Marjorie was born in Leeds on April 20, 1947 to Abraham and Heather Dursley. She is survived by brother Vernon (and Petunia) Dursley of Surrey, and nephew Dudley Dursley of Surrey…_

Hope couldn't really be sorry; the woman had always treated her like an animal. And Hope had never been wrong about a death.

Was that another spell of her father's that he'd placed on her? Because if it was, it was more of a terrible life-destroying burden than an amazing gift.

She crumpled it up and tossed the paper into the fireplace before heading back upstairs to try to sleep again.

* * *

It took days for Hope to get a handle on what Quinn called a 'mind labyrinth'. There were ways to shield the mind, to create a barrier between your mind and outside influences, but, per Quinn: "That's the laziest fucking way to guard your mind, let me show you how to turn your mind into a trap and weapon."

And Hope, who had cut her fingers on knives when learning to twirl and twist them in the air and catch them again, who had stuck a sword through a basilisk and another through a man trying to kill her, could only bare her teeth in a wide grin.

But creating a labyrinth in your mind was difficult work and Dean had a new appreciation for it after watching Hope sit with Quinn for hours upon hours without barely moving, sitting atop circular sigils written in chalk that it had taken Hope two days to get used to because sitting still and focusing her mind inward had never been her strongest suit. But she worked hard at it. He'd never seen her work so hard at magic before, even with the spells she found difficult.

The first step was the labyrinth, made up of so many doors and stairs that led to nothing, leading up and down until where you started was above you as you walked on the ceiling with ease. The next step was tricking it to hell and back.

One door opened into a bottomless pool of water, one had an explosion waiting for someone to open the door, another had crossbow bolts ready to strike, another had—

It was vaguely concerning how many ways to painfully kill invaders Hope had, which Dean told her quite incredulously after he'd finally come around to his mother and to Quinn, but Hope had spent years swallowing her tongue and biting her lip until she couldn't anymore; if Hope's mind was to be a trap, might as well be the best.

It took a week after Hope managed to actually build the labyrinth, step by step, a week of Quinn poking and prodding and finding holes for Hope to patch, before Quinn approved it. It wasn't the kind of learning that Hope was used to, but it did the trick.

Quinn nodded approvingly. "You'll need to reinforce it, of course, and nightmares will filter through, but, at the very _least,_ you're protected from a majority of mental incursions and anyone that tries to access your mind will end up in a _world of hurt."_

Hope pumped a fist, feeling uncommonly tired, but Quinn had assured her that using up all that etheric energy in a short period of time could be very draining.

"At least you're not dripping in it like your friend," Quinn had said dryly, never clarifying when Hope cast a confused look their way. "I know it's after Christmas, but, as a gift, I'll take you anywhere you want in the world."

Diane had already gotten her clothes that actually fit her and Dean had given her a new journal to write in once hers was completely filled.

"Anywhere?" Hope's eyes gleamed, sitting in that room that had once been Quinn's at their university, an untouched safe space in their mind. And then she thought inexplicably of her parents. "I want to go to where my parents died."

Hope didn't really know where it was, but that didn't matter; Quinn did. They didn't ask questions, just told her to dress for the cold and offered her a hand when she was ready. Hope took it easily, breathing out sharply in the chill.

There were homely cottages on each side of them, a pub at the far end streaming out light and laughter and carols. The snow was falling thickly around them.

"This is Godric's Hollow," Quinn told her quietly, voice echoing eerily. "A lot of…your folk have lived here." Hope guessed they meant the wizarding community, not to be confused with magicians.

"But where—?"

"Turn around, Hope," Quinn said gently and Hope froze before turning slowly around and staring with wide eyes.

The cottage that her parents had hid in with her was ruined by age, spell-damage and fire. It was small and modest, what was left it, at least, but there had only been three of them living there at the time; James might've been used to extravagance, but she imagined Lily was a love of modesty. The shrubs and flowers that were encrusted with frost were flowing over the gate, left unattended for over twelve years. The most ruin was evident by the gaping hole at where Hope's room must have been, looking rather like it had been blown apart by a spell or something else entirely, Hope remained unsure.

It was strange to be so close to the place where it all had started, where her parents had been killed, where she'd gotten her scar, and where she'd been orphaned in a _single moment._

She lifted her hands to the gate, the snow like ice against her hands and then she recoiled suddenly as a wooden sign rose out of the snow bearing the legend in golden letters:

_On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their daughter, Hope, remains the only witch ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family._

Hope let out a helpless little sob, reading the added words to the sign:

_Good luck, Hope, wherever you are._

_If you read this, Hope, we're all behind you!_

_Long live Hope Potter._

_Stay safe and stay strong_.

The tears traced down her cheeks and Hope scrubbed viciously at them until her skin was raw.

"You don't have to go inside," Quinn promised, "if it's too much, we can stand right here." Hope leaned into their side and Quinn dropped a kiss to the top of her head. Quinn was so rough around the edges and that was what Hope liked the most about them…she wondered how her parents would've felt about Quinn and Diane, doing their best to help her in a terrible situation that was Hope's home life.

She liked to think that they would've liked them, but she would never be completely sure.

"No," Hope said quickly. She'd come too far to leave now. "I want to go in."

"Okay," Quinn said simply, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with the snap of their fingers. "Just let me know when you're ready to leave, yeah?"

Hope's hand shook slightly as she undid the latch, pushing the gate open, steeling her nerves as she approached the door that was creaking as it was blown back and forth against the doorframe, which only added to the eerie atmosphere.

And then she set foot in the wreckage of the house that she had been carried out of at fifteen months of age.

It was dead and cold, and Hope wasn't sure what she should have expected, as the Fidelius had broken a very long time ago, but it seemed remarkably untouched, even ruined as it was.

Pictures in frames lined the wall, some of her father with his friends and her mother with hers and a few of little Hope giggling in her frame with her parents. Clearly happier times than what Hope remembered of that age, and she would have given anything to remember anything about them, but all she could remember was her mother's voice terrified, surely right before her death.

Hope swallowed thickly, raising a hand to the picture of her parents' wedding day with their beaming smiles and the two figures beside them must've been Sirius Black and Alice Longbottom…Neville had inherited a lot from his mother, but Sirius…he looked nothing like the deranged man she'd seen in the papers. Sirius Black was young and handsome and so _happy._

She sighed heavily, moving past the thick splotch of what could've only been dried blood at the foot of the stairs. That must've been where her father had fallen, trying to keep Voldemort from making it up to her mother, to _her._

Stepping lightly over the blood, Hope continued up the creaking stairs, pausing on the landing to consider the options, but then she turned away from the demolished room, carefully sliding open the door to her parents' bedroom.

Hope didn't even know what she was looking for. Proof that her parents had lived, had _actually_ lived, and had mattered to more people than the ones that told Hope that her parents had been heroes and what an _honor_ it must've been to have such heroes as parents…but Hope had never wanted her parents to be heroes, she'd wanted them to be _alive,_ she wanted to them to take her away from unending abuse.

But Hope rarely got what she wanted.

Sitting down on the bed released a cloud of dust and Hope couldn't help but sneeze, rubbing at her nose before noticing a small book on the bedside table, untouched for years.

Hope opened it and frowned, flipping carefully through the pages. It looked like her journal, the one where she'd started working on pieces of spells, nothing complete, nothing like this.

Whatever spells James or Lily had come up with -Hope was betting on James, though, from what the professors had said about him- they were complete…and written in a code that Hope didn't understand at all. She blew the dust off the book, tucking it into her pocket, before leaving. She looked over to where what had once been her room had been demolished and her mother murdered, but she couldn't bring herself to enter it.

Instead, she headed back down the stairs and out to Quinn, gripping their hand tight.

It was hours later when Dean was sleeping -twitching and tense- that Hope carved the sigil for 'ash' into the opposite wrist of 'heal' and even later that she completed her very first spell after countless unbalanced arithmetic, a spell with the destructive capability of leveling a three-story building that would earn the name 'Letum Ultima', the Last Death.

* * *

Diane had given her a thick folder and had told her very seriously "Only open this when you're good and ready. _Trust me_ , you'll know when that is," and Hope had just frowned at her in confusion, but she'd still placed it in her trunk.

"Are you gonna run off to Wales again this summer?" Dean asked, while she rifled through a bunch of papers that Ragnok had given her when she reentered the magical world and never really felt inclined to look through. It was mostly about her family's vaults and stocks and estates, nothing Hope really cared too much about.

(Evidently Mr. Elton had made some very lucrative decisions in selling off the pieces of basilisk, even with the generous cut he'd earned, though Hope was determined not to touch that vault until she was legal, as surprised as she was about the amount she'd earned)

But she'd gone back to look at the estates and where they were located since finding Potter Manor and Pithos.

"I'm thinking… _Crete,"_ Hope hummed. "The Marinos family have an estate there."

"Huh?" Dean looked up from his drawing to furrow his brow at her. "The who?"

"You wouldn't believe how many families I'm related to," Hope retorted dryly. "But the Marinos' died out a way long time ago. Morea Marinos married Salazar Slytherin and I think she was the last one…which explained why she didn't want to settle down for the longest time…"

Dean shook that off. "So, you're not going back to Wales to that amazing pirate ship?"

Hope laughed. "I'm not gonna be in Crete the whole time! I'll have to come back eventually, but I want to be somewhere with a lot of sunlight and warmth…and _really_ good food."

Dean snorted. "You'll need a passport, an actual one, since you can't go blipping around anymore."

She couldn't help but pout. That was the downside to Quinn's 'grounding' sigil on her arm. "Don't worry, Quinn said they'd help me with that, apparently they're enjoying how rebellious I am."

He snorted again.

"So?" Hope probed. "What do you think about them dating? Quinn and your mum?"

Dean shrugged carelessly. He'd drawn the still-tender sigil on her upper arm with careful precision on the page and had moved onto the transfigured burn in the shape of a blue iris on her shoulder blade. It was a very accurate rendition, Hope thought. "It's _weird_ , Mum dating…but Quinn's gotta be better than her ex, I guess."

"Your other mum?"

Dean huffed in annoyance. "If you can even call her that. She told Mum she loves me and misses me, but if she really cared she'd _be_ here." Dean didn't even have any memories of his mother's ex, that was all she was to him.

Hope figured it was probably better not to get into that disagreement, she stood to stuff the papers back into her trunk, pausing when she saw something that wasn't there before.

She pulled the stiff paper out. "Dear heart," she read out in a murmur.

"Hm? You say something?" Dean asked absently.

"No, just talking to myself," Hope said quickly, eyes still on the elegant script, flipping it over.

_Knives suit you better, but should you need the sword, a flick of the wrist will do._

Hope arched an eyebrow looking down at the gift in question. It was a belt with a holster for a knife at the back. Hope grasped the hilt and pulled it free, smiling at the black blade. It still was shaped like a raven, wings patterned against the hilt. The black blade made into a black knife.

She smiled.

* * *

George had been dozing off. He knew that Hope was coming back later, but it honestly slipped his mind. He didn't even hear the trapdoor open, but he definitely felt the couch divot as someone sat beside him, fingers carding through his hair.

He melted into her touch. " _Mm_ , that's nice."

"You tired, Georgie?" she hummed. "You look cute."

George didn't even open his eyes, enjoying her fingers in his hair too much. "Please. I'm downright _adorable."_

She laughed, the rough one he was still getting used to. "Whatever you say, baby."

George pouted, knowing he couldn't hide how his cheeks flushed at the pet name. "Not gonna give me a kiss?"

"How much you want it?"

He cracked his eyes open to see her devilish smirk and darkly glittering eyes as he gaped at her, reaching up to tangle a hand in her thick locks. "Why you conniving little—!" She laughed again as he pulled her down and into a kiss, swallowing her laughter.

She allowed him to pull her down, her lips curving even in the kiss before she parted from him. "Want a cuddle buddy?"

George closed his eyes, tugging at her insistently until— "Merlin, you're cold!"

Hope laughed again, settling her back to his chest. "Have you and Fred been busy?" she asked as he nuzzled into her neck, pulling her tighter against him, making her words slightly breathless and her cheeks pink.

"Mm," George hummed in agreement, leaning back to press a kiss to the back of her head, "something like that."

She smiled slightly. "Causing trouble?" she mused.

"You know me so well."

"Or you're just that predictable," Hope said with a smirk, tilting her head back slightly to smirk up at him.

"I like you knowing me better," George said, kissing her cheek lightly, "it sounds better."

Hope gave a light laugh at that comment. "Right, sure. Whatever makes you happy, Georgie."

She linked her fingers with his free hand, delighting in his warmth. "Have you done much studying for your exams?" she asked.

He snorted. "Psh, you know me, Hope, why would _I_ study?"

"I thought that your OWLs are considered towards whatever career you want to go into?" Hope said with curiosity despite her amusement. "What was it that you wanted to do?"

George contemplated an answer to that. Both he and Fred knew what they wanted to do, and it wasn't a career path that his mother would approve of, that much he knew. He still wasn't sure how his father would react, but he didn't think that he would condemn their dreams like their mother would.

Hope poked him hard in the stomach with her elbow.

"Ow!" he complained, exaggerating his pain and making Hope roll her eyes at the same time.

"Don't be such a baby!" she said with a grin. "So? What is it? What does George Weasley want to be?"

"Well…Fred and I were thinking of running our own joke shop," he admitted, hoping it didn't seem as foolish as it sounded.

"Really?" Hope said in surprise, before grinning widely, "Well, you two would be good at it, I suppose. It is your vocation after all."

George wanted to kiss her for saying that; he wasn't sure why he restrained himself from doing so. It was times like these that he couldn't help but gaze fondly at Hope and remember just how much she appreciated his pranking streak, being one with a rebellious streak herself.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Hope's breathing had evened out as she fell asleep beside him.

* * *

"I can't _believe_ she took it!" Ron bemoaned later that day as the three of them sat before the raging fire with a thick blanket spread over the three of their laps. Hope and Hermione –predictably– had books flung open on their laps, but Ron, having just finished the last of his homework for the holidays -just in time for class tomorrow-, was trying to recover the full use of his hand once more.

Over the holiday, Hope had been sent a Firebolt to replace the Nimbus 2000 she'd lost during her last quidditch match. There had been no card and Hope hadn't had the chance to fly it when she was with Quinn and it had slipped her mind until she'd come back to school.

Professor McGonagall had been apprehensive, probably because of Quinn threatening to pull Hope out of school, an empty threat, Hope had known, but Professor McGonagall hadn't. She'd accepted Hope wanting to withdraw from Divination without contest (she'd always clearly despised the subject), but when she'd found out about the broom, she'd put her foot down.

"But Sirius Black might have sent it," Hermione added, "imagine if he cursed it!"

"But I flew around on it for about fifteen minutes," Hope pointed out. She'd just come in from the cold, hair windswept and grin wide while Professor McGonagall looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"Maybe it had a time delay," she said reasonably, making her two friends stare at her. "What?"

"You can do that?" they both asked with varying degrees of skepticism.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "When are you two going to learn that a lot of things are possible with magic?"

_"Hey!"_

_"Oi!"_

"We should do something," Hope decided after a long moment after spending an abnormal amount of time staring at the ceiling.

"We could—" Ron started to say.

 _"No_ ," Hermione said quickly and sternly, shooting down his theorizing of a wizard's chess match, "you _always_ win those." No one dared to utter the words "Sore loser," because they doubted she would react well to the words, no matter how true they were.

"What about—"

"But we're too lazy to move," Hope said, shooting down her suggestion that they go outside, "besides, it's practically a blizzard out there."

Hope turned her head towards the window and Hermione and Ron followed suit, staring at the snow white flurries that swirled so tightly together that Hope swore they looked like a miniature tornado.

"I picked up a few books on dueling and defensive and offensive magic before term started," she said abruptly, having completely forgotten about the books in question until that moment.

Hermione brightened a bit; that topic sounded potentially interesting.

Ron grinned slightly; now dueling was something that had always interested him!

So they waited for Hope to pull herself up and into a standing position and stagger in a drunken manner towards the stairs that led up to the girl's dormitory, and after waiting a few seconds, she reappeared once more with two books tucked under her arm as she plopped down between them once more, flipping one book open. Hermione and Ron leaned forward to peer at its contents.

"These look really advanced though," Ron said as he took the book from her and began sifting through it, "is there anything mild that we could learn as third years?"

Hermione snatched it out of his hands. "Let me have a look, hang on."

Hope and Ron shared a look, resisting the urge to laugh at how forward their friend had become in reference to learning new things.

"The Stunning Spell doesn't look too difficult," she admitted finally, "it's only a fourth-year spell."

"Stunning?" Hope asked with a frown. "Does it work like _Petrificus Totalus_?"

"Sort of," Hermione said, looking intently over the section, "only it knocks you out instead. You kind of go limp."

"Sounds like fun."

Hope and Hermione stared at Ron. "What? Was I not supposed to sound so enthusiastic?"

Hermione burst into giggles and Hope cracked a smile.

"I guess we have a volunteer, Hermione," Hope said, the smile transforming into a smirk.

"It seems we do, Hope," Hermione agreed, crossing her arms as the pair stared intently at Ron who cottoned on rather quickly.

"Oh, _no!"_ he said quickly, rolling away from them, "bad idea!"

"What's the incantation for that Stunning Spell?" Hope asked Hermione with a grin that was just a tad feral.

"Hm," Hermione hummed, scanning the page for the incantation in question as Ron feverishly searched for the exit. "It says here its _Stupefy_ …and the counter curse is _Rennervate_ , but it also says to not use it on humans until you have a firm grasp of the spell-work."

Hope cast a smirk Ron's way. "I guess you get to stay conscious this time, Weasley."

Ron exhaled in relief, muttering something distasteful under his breath that had Hermione glowering darkly and Hope laughing loudly.

* * *

With the term starting up again, Remus had to face James' all-together quite unnerving daughter, which was never what he thought would be a way he described Hope Potter. He'd heard that she'd somehow ended up with a mentor of some sort who had threatened to keep Hope out of school…though Remus was sure there was some kind of legal precedent that said only at fifteen years old at least could a witch or wizard be taken out of school.

Hope, for what it was worth, seemed unperturbed by the murmurings of other students about the apparent scene her mentor had caused.

"Now, ordinarily a better way to do it would be to practice the spell against something that's like a dementor, but you aren't scared enough of them for a boggart to turn into them," he explained and Hope huffed.

"I dunno, they can probably give the Tree a run for its money," Hope grumbled, "if I don't have a knife."

Remus still had a lot of questions about that, about how a tree could scare someone who had been attacked several times and was now more heavily scarred because of those attacks. Still, it wasn't the best time to ask.

"So, the spell I'm going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, well beyond OWL level, it's called the Patronus Charm and its incantation is 'Expecto Patronum'—"

"Okay, but you'll have to explain the theory behind it." Hope wrinkled her nose, swinging her legs from where she was perched on one the desks. "I have a hard time with spells if I don't know how they work—"

"James was the same way," Remus smiled faintly and she startled a little. "He had to remind people to go slower and explain everything fully, don't worry."

Her mouth twitched into a faint smile.

"So, it works by conjuring up a Patronus which is a kind of guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it."

"What's it look like?" Hope asked curiously. "Like an actual shield?"

"More like an animal guard," Remus admitted, "one that is unique to the caster…some say it's a reflection of the caster's soul. But the Patronus Charm will only work if you are concentrating on a single happy memory."

Hope pursed her lips, thinking hard. She could've used Hermione or Ron or even Dean or George…Diane or Quinn too…but when she reached for her mobile, there was only one person she thought of. She closed her eyes, remembering Nath's smile when she'd awoken in the hospital, terrified and alone.

"It's all right," Nath had said, a hand running through her hair. "You're all right. I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you."

" _Expecto Patronum,"_ she murmured and Remus' eyebrows rose at the silvery mist that began to escape from the tip of her wand.

"Don't worry," she said later, "If this spell doesn't work out, I can always throw away the wand and just stab it in the face." She pulled a knife out of nowhere and Remus couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

Professor Lupin was certainly right about it being fairly advanced, though, and by February, Hope was beginning to grow disheartened.

"Don't worry so much," Professor Lupin admonished, "your defense is getting stronger. It might still be made of mist, but its most distinct than it's been. You're making progress, you just have to stick with it."

"I have complete faith in you," Professor Lupin added with utter assurance with Hope remained despondent, that Hope's lips couldn't help but twitch slightly into a smile.

"What exactly does a Patronus do, if you ever manage to completely form one?" she asked.

"A true Patronus typically charges the Dementors and forces them away," he said, "and even if your Patronus is not fully formed, it can still protect you well enough. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground."

"But you said it's harder if there are a lot of them," Hope reminded him.

"Yes, but you will also be having professors attending your games that know the spell," Professor Lupin said.

"You said that the shape is unique to the one who produces them, right?" Hope said, canting her head to the side as he handed her a bottle of butterbeer for which she grinned and thanked him, opening it from where she sat cross-legged on a desk.

"That's right."

"What does yours look like?"

"A wolf."

Hope looked up from her drink in surprise. "You don't like it?"

Professor Lupin shifted uncomfortably. He had always hated that his Patronus had been a wolf and had purposefully made it so that his Patronus was non-corporeal when he was in the presence of others in an effort to hide his condition from them. James and Sirius had always thought he was being stupid, but they could never convince him to form his true Patronus when surrounded by people who didn't know that he was a werewolf.

"Well," she continued, noticing how he didn't want to talk about it, "I think having a wolf Patronus would be cool; wolves are awesome."

Professor Lupin spared her a miniscule smile.

"What were Mum and Dad's Patronuses?" she continued on.

"Their Patronuses were what we call complementary," he explained, eager to move away from his Patronus, "meaning that they were a male and female form of the same animal. James' was a stag, and Lily's was a doe."

"Really?" Hope said in surprise. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Only in a few rare cases," Professor Lupin said, "such as soul mates."

She smiled a bit brightly at that.

"What's under a Dementor's hood?" she asked, hardly drinking her butterbeer as she had far too many questions that needed to be answered. Their lessons had turned from purely academical to slightly academical with a side of small talk, but at least Hope wasn't doing her hardest to avoid him anymore, which was a relief.

At the question, Professor Lupin paused in drinking to frown in a pensive manner. "Hmmm... well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor lowers its hood only to use its last and worst weapon."

Hope's eyes turned apprehensive at that. "What is it? Why is it so bad?"

"It's called the Dementor's Kiss," said Professor Lupin, his lips twisting into a grimace. "It's what Dementors do to those they wish to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and -and suck out their soul."

Hope gagged at that, grateful that she hadn't been drinking any of her butterbeer, or it would have possibly ended up all over her professor, and she might never be able to live that down.

 _"What?"_ she said, her mind completely boggled. "Do they kill—?"

"Oh _no,"_ Professor Lupin said quickly, "it's much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no... _anything._ There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever...lost." He gave a deep sigh, drinking a little more, before adding: "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him."

Hope was staring at him with a frown he couldn't quite place. "I've read about Azkaban," she said, "George told me about it, too…isn't it a bit _inhumane?"_

"To some," Professor Lupin agreed heavily.

"Do you think Sirius Black deserves it?" she asked, still on the fence about if Sirius Black had really done what everyone said he had.

"You think he doesn't?" Professor Lupin arched an eyebrow.

"I think I'm used to people blaming me for things without evidence," Hope shrugged carefully. "But you're the one that knew him…do you think Sirius Black is as bad as they say?"

"I thought I knew him," he said after a very long silence, "but I should have known better with the family background that he had, I suppose."

"What do you mean?" Hope asked with curiosity.

"Sirius Black came from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Professor Lupin explained, "they were rather vocal about their pro-Dark leanings. The whole family had been in Slytherin, up until him. He was a shame to his parents, being in Gryffindor."

"Did Sirius Black ever share his family's stance on Dark Magic?" she asked instead. She felt more confused than anything concerning the man.

"He was very anti-Dark," Professor Lupin admitted, "he had to be to be friends with James. James hated the Dark Arts." He glanced at her. "Don't you?"

She ignored the question, her skin tingling over the runes carved into her wrists. They weren't Dark Magic, but they still weren't looked on favorably. Hope jumped off the desk, stumbling slightly as her shoes made contact with the floor and she stretched and yawned. "Well, I'd better get going, I've still got to finish an Ancient Runes translation."

"Best of luck," Professor Lupin said with a smile.

"See you at the match," she added, "hopefully I'll have my broom back by then…"

"As a teacher I shouldn't really be taking sides, but, to Gryffindor," Professor Lupin said with a wink, and Hope laughed as she spared him a wave before disappearing out of the room without a look back.

* * *

They were a bunch of _idiots,_ that much Hope was sure as she scowled at them with her arms crossed and leaning against the shut door…and they were still going at it… _great_ …

She had never seen Ron or Hermione quite so angry as they were now in the three years that she had known them. Their faces were each a bright red and their eyes flashed as they yelled at the other. Hope had stopped understanding a word that they were saying, it was all too much blurred together for her to even begin to comprehend.

The whole night had started to go downhill the moment that Ron, Ron who had always been a bit of a peacemaker, stormed down from his dorm screaming at Hermione that Scabbers had gone and that there was blood and ginger cat hairs on the sheets. And Hope had taken that time when the whole common room had been staring at Ron to forcibly drag the pair to a secluded location, giving orders to the first suit of armour she saw with the Slytherin crest to block the door.

"YOU SAID THAT CAT WAS GOING TO STAY IN YOUR DORMITORY!" Ron roared.

"OH, LIKE SCABBERS DOESN'T LEAVE YOUR DORMITORY!" Hermione raged back. "YOU HYPOCRITE!"

Hope thought they were both being foolish. Ron was overreacting, but Hermione should have kept tighter control of her pet. The problem was, Hermione didn't see it that way, she only saw it as her cat being the victim which was neither here nor there.

Ron's lips twisted upwards into a sneer that he could have easily copied from Snape on a good day, and then he twisted on his heel, stalking towards where Hope stood. She arched an eyebrow.

"Are you going to let us out?" he snapped. "Or am I stuck with her?" He jabbed a finger in Hermione's direction, though he missed the flash of hurt that spread across her face.

"No one's stopping you," Hope said, wrenching the door open and inviting them to walk through it, but they didn't, or perhaps it was better to say that they couldn't. Because framed in the doorway was a suit of armour holding a Slytherin shield and blocking the doorway.

"Hope," Ron said through gritted teeth, scowling fiercely at her, but her expression was unwavering and steadfast.

"He's not going to move unless I say so," Hope said, rolling her eyes at him. "And I don't think I want to right now, considering you and Hermione are trying to start World War III all by yourselves."

Both of them glared a bit at her for that.

"Have you heard the pair of you?" She asked in irritation. "I'm sure that the Londoners could hear you from here."

"Hope," Hermione warned. " _Don't."_

"Don't what?" Hope snapped this time. "I like you both, you're my best friends, but the pair of you need _to get a grip!"_ Her voice had risen gradually as she had spoken.

Ron and Hermione leaned back suddenly at the sudden rage, but they couldn't respond properly to her.

"You know what?" Hope said finally. "I'm not going to say a single word to anyone until you two make up and admit you've both got pet problems." Peer pressure seemed like the best way to go, she knew that George in particular liked her witty remarks and he wouldn't take too kindly to her silence and she absolutely counted on him blaming his brother.

"What?!" Hermione said, a bit dumbstruck. "But you always talk! You always have something to say!"

"Not this time," Hope said, looping her newly released broom over her shoulders as she glared at the pair of them. "Work it out," she added firmly, "or get used to the silence."

Ron stared after her as she left, not quite sure how exactly he and Hermione were supposed to work it out, especially since it was _all her cat's fault!_ Why couldn't Hope see that? Why couldn't she take sides for once, and how did she think being silent was going to help anything? What was that going to do?

And then it practically brained him across the face. Oh, George was going to kill him…was that what she was hoping for? Death by brother? Ron gulped audibly before following his friend's lead and exiting the room, steering around the suit of armor that was still standing guard of to the side in a silent vigil.

As soon as she was alone, Hermione wanted to burst into tears. She was tired and angry and afraid all at the same time. She ran a hand through her bushy curls and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to staunch the tears before they could fall, but they fell anyways. Her breath shook in time with her shoulders as she tried to control her emotions. Why couldn't Ron see that cats chased rats? Why couldn't he understand that what Crookshanks had was a natural response to his prey? Why couldn't he see how sorry she was?

But all Hermione could do was will the tears to stop and wish for Ron to forgive her soon.

So, the next day when she came down to breakfast the next morning, she was a bit unsurprised that Hope had followed through with her threat and was wearing something with words scrawled across it dangling from her neck. She couldn't read it from where she was, but she didn't have to.

 _"Sorry, my two best friends are being idiots so everyone is getting the silent treatment from me until they make up,"_ George read aloud from what looked like something that used to be a book cover as Hermione walked past, studiously ignoring the blatant glare that Ron gave her as she passed, opting to sit on the far end of the table, as far away from him as possible. "Seriously?"

Hope jerked her head towards where Hermione was sitting, still being subjected to Ron's glare. Angelina and Alicia weren't too impressed with his attitude towards the bookish third year, especially if it was over pets, though they supposed they couldn't fault him for thinking that Crookshanks killed Scabbers. Privately, everyone thought that Crookshanks had killed Scabbers, but none of them were willing to admit it out loud (House of the Brave? That was likely).

"Get your butt over there and apologize to her," George said.

"No!" Ron said affronted. "I haven't done anything wrong! It's her cat!"

"You do know that all cats chase rats, don't you?" Fred asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Ron gave him a venomous glare at that comment, but Hope wrote down onto the paper inside of a journal that she had been apparently carrying around for that purpose, holding up the words "I agree with Fred," shortly followed by "You're being an idiot, and so is she."

Ron's cheeks reddened. "Then why aren't you over there complaining to her?"

Hope shrugged. "You're more reasonable. Hermione's very difficult to reason with." No doubt something she had picked up from Hope.

Then she held up the words "You're breaking her heart. Hermione doesn't deserve that." And then he felt a bit ashamed.

"Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was," said Fred added, guessing that now would be a good time to get in the last word. "And he's been off-color for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly -one swallow- he probably didn't feel a thing."

"Fred!" said Ginny said aghast, gaping at her older brother and slapping him on the arm to which he theatrically winced. "You can't tell him that! That's so mean!"

"I'm telling the truth!" Fred cried indignantly.

"All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself," added George to his twin's argument, ignoring the side-abuse that his sister was doing to Fred while Angelina watched on, nodding approvingly.

"He bit Goyle for us once!" Ron said in a mournful voice that almost made Hope feel sorry for him, but she was still too irritated for that. "Remember, Hope?"

Hope gave him a fierce scowl when he asked her that, despite remembering their first year on the way to the castle where they had been accosted by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"His finest hour," Fred said, unable to keep his lips from twitching slightly. "Let the scar on Goyle's finger stand as a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy a new rat, what's the point of moaning?"

"But it was Scabbers!" Ron whined. "He's been in the family for thirteen years!"

But that didn't stop him from being dead (possibly) and gone.

Hope rolled her eyes, though she did feel for Ron, she didn't appreciate how he was blaming Hermione for what her pet had done. She stood up, kissing George soundly, smiling as he tried to prolong it as she pulled back with a light laugh and a whisper of "See you at lunch," that only he could hear. And then she tightened her jacket around her and strode silently out of the hall and into the chilly air as she walked down to Hagrid's cabin.

Buckbeak wasn't outside, but that didn't surprise her, because they were still in the cold months of the year and it would have been cruel to just leave him outside.

"Hagrid?" she knocked hard on the door, but for a moment he didn't answer so she knocked harder. "Hagrid? Are you there?" She could hear his heavy footballs within, so he must be.

The gigantic man opened the door with a look of surprise in his beetle black eyes. "Hope! Come in! Where's Hermione and Ron?"

"They're fighting," Hope said, gesturing to the small sign she was wearing around her neck. Hagrid took a moment to read the thick writing before shaking his head.

"Those two," he grunted, "never met a more stubborn trio o' people than you three."

Hope grinned brightly as if being stubborn was a compliment as Hagrid dumped a plate of rock cakes onto the table -which Hope quickly declined-, sipping the tea politely.

"We do try hard," she admitted, but then her smile faltered. "I've never seen them so angry," she admitted, subdued. "Do you think they'll ever make up?"

Her eyes implored the man, but he had no answers for her.

"They'll come 'round," he assured her, "don't you worry about that, they just need a sharp hit to the skull an' they'll be sorted."

But Hope wasn't sure how a little brain damage was going to make anything better.

"I got you this too, Hagrid," Hope added, pulling out a couple leaves of parchment and handing it to him. "It's for your hearing," she explained at the blank look on his face, "it's not much, but I'll probably do some more research when I've got less homework and Quidditch practice." Though, she thought to herself, the latter would less likely fluctuate as much as the former. Oliver could be such a pain sometimes.

Hagrid's eyes misted over with emotions as he moved forward to grip Hope in a tight enough hug that Hope could have sworn her ribs had broken, but she weathered it just for him.

* * *

The damned rat had evaded him once more; Sirius couldn't resist growling a bit at that. He was thankful for Crookshanks' help, but it had unfortunately yielded no fruits this time around. Crookshanks had attempted to snag Pettigrew when he was in the boys' dormitory, but the rat was quick and small and he had evaded him, making it look as though the cat had killed him in the process.

He was much cleverer than he seemed.

Crookshanks gave a meow of warning and Sirius stepped quickly back into the shadows as a now familiar voice rang through the hall. "Crookshanks? What're you doing out of the Tower?"

His goddaughter lifted the ginger cat up and into her arms with a bemused half-smile. "You clever boy," she hummed, "did you push that portrait open all by yourself?" Crookshanks preened slightly at the veiled compliment. "Does Hermione know you're out here?"

The distressed meow told her all that she needed to know.

"I'll take you back to the common room, then," she said.

"I was wondering if you were going to show your face again." A male voice commented, making Sirius tense and Hope only barely jump before smiling brightly.

"I just went down to visit Hagrid," she said in an airy voice, "so I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Mmhm, right," he said in a voice that said "of course you do."

Crookshanks took that time to rub his face affectionately against hers before leaping out of her arms and giving the pair a significant look. Well, no one could say that he wasn't part Kneazle.

Hope pouted briefly before grinning as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "What? Did you miss me and hate being surrounded by all those couples?"

"What's the point of celebrating Valentine's Day if my girlfriend ditches me for the gamekeeper?" George said in a mournful manner, making peals of laughter erupt from her lips.

Sirius didn't like him on principle. You weren't supposed to like your goddaughter's boyfriend; it was probably a golden rule of some sort. Still, he hadn't seen her smile so much as she did when she was around him, and that smile always made his heart swell at the similarities it shared to her parents'. And clearly, she had taken after her father in falling for a red-head.

Sirius only slightly approved of the Weasley, and that was only because he was a prankster.

She raked her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck…it was getting longer and she didn't think that she minded it. "So, what did you get me?"

His eyes glinted, even though she could see that he was hiding something behind his back. "My dear lady," he said in a mock-knight-ish fashion, "whatever makes you think I got you anything to celebrate our courtship?"

"Courtship?" she laughed loudly at that. "Is that what this is? I was assuming you were some kind of stalker with the way you follow me around!"

"I follow you around?" he said in exaggerated surprise. "Whatever do you mean? I would never stalk such a lovely bird so mercilessly!"

Hope's cheeks burned a red Sirius had never seen before. "Who're you calling lovely, you numpty?"

"Maybe the person I will be giving this to," George offered, bringing the object to the front and revealing what he had been hiding. It wasn't chocolate or jewelry like Sirius had expected; it was a flower. And it wasn't just any flower, it was a blue iris.

He remembered that night well. He had been the first one to arrive on the scene, the first one to see the damage that Peter had done. He had seen how James had been sprawled at the foot of the stairs, his eyes wide and unseeing, undoubtedly having tried to stall the Dark Lord from reaching his daughter. Sirius had had to step around him, forcing the bile down as he raced up the ruined steps and coughing at the smoke, because somehow a fire had started to burn, beginning at the crib.

His heart had fluttered in fear, but then he saw that his goddaughter was not in it.

The back of her sleep shirt had been burned and he could see the burn stretched into her skin as well, marring one shoulder as the little girl cried, on the floor, patting a hand to her mother's cheek, but Lily did not move.

"Hope!" he had said in obvious relief, racing to her side to gently cradle her in his arms. This only made Hope cry harder, even though he had been careful to not touch her back, it must have been the shock of everything that happened.

He pulled out his wand and muttered a spell, making the burn morph and blossom into a strange-looking but beautiful flower. Surprised at the lack of pain, Hope had stopped crying, and giving a silent apology to his friends, Sirius had picked her up and carefully carried her down the stairs and out of the ruined house only to be met with Rubeus Hagrid.

The man had insisted that he hand over Hope to him, under the orders of Albus Dumbledore, so that he could take her to her aunt and uncle. But Sirius had remembered all of the stories Lily had told him about her sister who hated magic, and he had no doubt that her husband would be the same. She couldn't go there! He had argued, but Hagrid would not change his mind, so he had to settle for handing over his beloved goddaughter, the last connection to James and Lily, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as she looked on in confusion.

"Pa'foo no go!" she whimpered, holding out her hands and curling them inwards like she wanted to grab him.

Sirius had wanted to stay, but he had to go, so he left Hagrid with his motorbike and had gone off to search for his traitorous friend. And then he had lost twelve years in Azkaban.

"You spoil me," Hope said, bringing him back to the present, "I wasn't sure what to get you so I just got a lot of chocolate."

"I don't mind," George said, leaning down to kiss her, and if Sirius squinted hard enough, he could almost imagine that it was James and Lily.

* * *

By the end of the week Ron was really regretting everything. Hope was still doing the silence thing when she wasn't alone with George, and it had already earned her a few detentions with Snape, but she wasn't going to stop until he and Hermione had apologized. Flitwick had been surprised when he had read the sign the first time around, but McGonagall's eyebrow had twitched in irritation.

George was pretty annoyed that she couldn't talk to him in public and the scowl he had given Ron had an underlying threat that he was sure involved a cruel prank of some sort.

He glanced over to where Hermione was sitting in the common room in front of the couch with her books and parchments spread around her. He could see the grey shadows under her eyes from where he was and how thin she looked…or was she always that thin?

Hermione raked a hand through her bushy curls, making reds paint across the brown. Ron flushed when he realized he was staring, and shifted his gaze to Hope who was sitting at George's feet, braced against his legs as she did her Ancient Runes homework. The knowing smirk made the red of his cheeks darken further.

She jerked her head in Hermione's direction in a "go on" gesture. And this time, Ron did as she requested. He shut his book and stood, walking over to where Hermione was sitting, working diligently on her Arithmancy assignment.

"Hey," he said, clearing this throat slightly when it came out a little more strangled than he had planned, "mind if I sit?"

Hermione looked at him in startled surprise. "Er…sure, I mean, if you want to." She tried to play off being calm, but her heart was beating too fast for it to work properly.

And he sat down, opening his book again, and for the longest moment, he didn't do anything and Hermione could hardly concentrate on the passage that she was supposed to be writing her essay on, and then she decided to act first.

"Ron, I'm really, really sorry about Scabbers," she whispered.

"I know," he said back, pausing for a second before patting Hermione's hand lightly in a way that said he wasn't quite sure what to do. "And Fred was right, you know. He was old, and a bit useless…and maybe Mum and Dad will let me get an owl now."

He put on a brave face, but she could tell he was still missing his pet; after all, Scabbers had been in their family for more than a decade.

"Does that mean I can start talking again?" Hope interjected quickly, making their heads swivel towards Hope who was quirking an eyebrow with an annoyed look on her face. "Because I'm really starting to hate this whole silence thing."

Hermione gave a watery laugh and Ron cracked a grin.

"I can't be nearly as snarky silent," Hope complained, snapping her book shut and standing up and stretching before sitting down on George's arm of his chair. "I never thought I would miss my sarcasm so much."

Now Ron and Hermione weren't the only ones laughing.

* * *

"Got plenty of special features, hasn't it? Shame it doesn't come with a parachute -in case you get too near a dementor."

Hope was having a positively brilliant morning before that stuck up Slytherin ferret by the name of Draco Malfoy had decided to drop by. Her friends were finally talking, though she suspected it might be a little while before they were completely relaxed in each other's presences as they had been before, as Ron was still getting set off every time that he saw bandy-legged cat. George looked like he wanted to hit Malfoy for the comment, but Hope grabbed his arm before he could.

"Maybe you should get some special features for yours," she said coolly. "Maybe you should attach a dozen arms to yours, that way if you fail, you'll still have a one in twelve chance of catching the Snitch."

The Gryffindors roared at that and Hope smirked as a faint pink rose in Malfoy's cheeks.

"You want to play with fire, Malfoy?" she said, standing up and looping her Firebolt over her shoulder. "Then you'd better be ready to get _burned."_

And not twenty minutes later the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams were out on the field with the students raging above them. It was a beautiful day for flying, and being outside in general, quite the opposite of the weather that they had during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match that had only been a few months back.

"Ready to kick some ass?" George asked with a wink to her.

"You know me so well," Hope said with a smirk. "Kiss for good luck?"

"You don't need a kiss for good luck," George said in mirth as she pouted.

"You ruin all my fun, Weasley," she said in a mournful voice as she mounted her broom, kicking off firmly as the whistle pierced the air.

Her broom rocketed farther and faster upwards than any of the others' brooms, a testament to the Firebolt's superiority, and she took a brief second to enjoy how the wind whipped across her face, flinging her plaited hair to the wind, buffeting it like a ribbon caught in a storm. There were a few "Ooh"s and "Ahh"s at the speed of her new broom and she couldn't resist brightly grinning at their responses, but then her face melted into an expression of pure focus.

The bright sunlight was going to make it difficult to see that flash of gold that was the Snitch moving fast against the wind, but Hope was always up for a good challenge. She circled the pitch, turning so sharply that she knew that her old Nimbus wouldn't have been able to keep up.

Cho was marking her again…that was getting _so_ old.

"Let's see if you can handle this," Hope muttered to herself as she urged her broom forward, whizzing past a few red and blue blurs as she suddenly flew downwards into an almost vertical dive with a hand outstretched, as if she already had the Snitch in her sights.

She could hardly hear the screams as Cho chased her, and then suddenly she wasn't faking it, catching a glint of golden as the Snitch raced close to the ground.

CRACK!

Hope cried out in pain as a Bludger collided with her wrist, breaking it on impact, forcing her to pull up and cause Cho's broom to skid in the ground as she pulled up too close.

 _"Ooh!"_ Lee Jordan complained into the megaphone. "So close! But a well-timed Bludger has put one of Potter's arms out of action, but, ah, the backlash! This is another reminder why you don't mess Beaters' girlfriends!"

George had taken his bat and given it a mighty swing that nicked one of the Ravenclaw Beaters' shoulders with a well-aimed Bludger. Hope couldn't help but feel a bit pleased about that.

She grimaced through her pain before using her only able arm now to direct her broom, twisting around violently in search of—

_There it was!_

She sent her broom speeding towards the Gryffindor goal posts, the middle one being her focus. However, by this time Cho had decided to block her by hovering her broom directly in Hope's flight path. Bad move.

Hope's eyes sharpened, the color fading to a steely grey as she flattened herself to the shaft of her broom and thus increasing her speed.

Her refusing to stop or shy away from the impact startled Cho, she could see it, and the Chinese fourth year shifted her broom at the last possible second at just the right amount that they wouldn't crash, before following her adversary after the tiny golden ball.

Hope lifted her good hand from the broom to outstretch it, hanging on to the broomstick with only her thighs and knees. The metal brushed against the tips of her fingers. _So close!_

And then she saw them. Three tattered cloaks covering hooded faces.

Her first thought was: _Shit! I don't have my wand!_

Her second thought was: _Not this time!_

And what she did next surprised both herself and possibly the whole stadium as she clenched her broken hand into a fist despite the pain that shot up her arm as she drew it back and launched it forward into the face of one of the dementors.

The pain made her give out a small cry, but then the fingers of her good hand curled around the ball and she barely had enough time to direct the broom slightly closer to the ground before she fell off it and rolled into the earth, clutching the hand that still held the Snitch around her arm.

She blinked dizzily as red filled her vision as George hugged her fiercely, cradling her face in his hands as if she was fragile or delicate before leaning in to kiss her so intensely that Hope swore that she saw stars.

She could hear Oliver yelling to anyone that would listen _"That's my girl!"_ and Fred had given her such a tight hug that she could have sworn that he was his mother. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia had each given her a much gentler hug and a kiss to the cheek, being the first ones careful of her injury as she held the arm close to her chest.

Hermione was worried, as usual, her face tight and her eyes darting to Hope's arm every few seconds, but Ron was just ecstatic, making Hope laugh out loud.

And then she saw Professor Lupin, his scarred face a mixture of amused and annoyed.

He smiled as she walked over to him with a bright grin. "Ever punched a dementor in the face, Professor?" she said, feeling a bit cheeky in the high of the win. "I'm adding that to my number of special skills: killed a dementor and punched a dementor in the face."

Professor Lupin chuckled lightly. "I would hate to be the downer, but…" He escorted her to the edge of the field. "I believe you've damaged Mr. Malfoy a bit."

She gaped as what looked like the entire Slytherin team attempted to disentangle themselves from dark flowing robes, with Draco Malfoy clutching at his face. Hope was darkly pleased that she seemed to have broken the prat's nose. And then she felt angry.

"Those _asses_ ," she snarled. "Maybe I should give them _each_ a nice punch to the face."

Professor Lupin arched an eyebrow at her threat of violence. "I don't think that will be necessary," he said, pointing to Professor McGonagall who was red in the face and practically glowing with anger at their deeds.

"An unworthy trick!" she raged. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!"

George took this time to pull her out and away from the crowd and a bit farther back so as not to be interrupted as he helped her slowly pull off the glove and arm guard, making her hiss slightly in pain.

"Sorry," he quickly apologized.

"S'alright," she muttered, her cheeks burning as his fingers gently smoothed over the flesh of her wrist.

"I don't suppose you've got anything else broken, do you?" he asked mildly.

Hope's lips twitched into a smirk and George drank in her appearance. Strands of her dark red hair had escaped her braid and fell around her flushed face in disarray. Her bright eyes and smirking lips made her look much more like a mischief-maker than he or Fred did. "Why, want to kiss it better?" she regretted it the second she said it, because her cheeks burned brighter than the sunset as George gave a loud and bright laugh before kissing her instead.

* * *

The last thing Hope wanted to do that night was be woken up by a loud scream, but that didn't stop her from wrenching open her curtains to find Hermione staring at her half in worry, half in fear.

"Was that Ron?" she whispered.

And Hope's face went positively white, almost exactly the same shade as Hermione's as they dashed down the stairs, throwing whatever decency they had out of the window as they came into the lit common room, closely followed by the rest of the girls' and boys' dormitories, a throng of voices filling the room as Hope and Hermione weaved through the crowd.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming, Ron?"

"I'm telling you; I saw him!"

"What's all the noise?"

"Professor McGonagall told us to go to bed!"

"Excellent, are we carrying on?" Fred asked with a bright and eager grin, but it faded as his older brother descended the stairs.

"George!" Hope hissed, drawing her boyfriend to where they were standing. "What happened?"

But George looked as confused as she and Hermione felt. "No idea," he said, easily wrapping an arm around Hope's shoulders and feeling the tension that they held.

"Everyone back upstairs!" Percy barked, his hair mussed with sleep and his pajamas disheveled.

But then Ron, for the first time, latched onto the sound of his brother's voice and turned his round eyes to him. "Perce –Sirius Black!" Ron gasped out. "In our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!"

Everyone in the common room froze at those words, each person sharing a look with someone else, and Hope could feel George's arm tightening around her, almost painfully, but not quite.

"Nonsense!" Percy snapped, though his eyes betrayed his worry, and Hope could see his eyes doing a quick scan of his brother and his tensed body relax slightly when he saw nothing wrong. "You had too much to eat, Ron –had a nightmare—"

"I'm telling you—" Ron was saying angrily, his temper darkening his words before being pulled up short by the sudden appearance of Professor McGonagall whose face was contorted in annoyance and anger that all of them being down in the common room, obviously believing they had taken to partying once more.

"Now, really, enough's enough!" she said. "I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!"

Hope winced slightly at the offended look that Percy was now wearing on his face. It wasn't like it had been his idea in the first place.

"I certainly didn't authorize this, Professor!" said Percy, the perfect picture of indignation. "I was just telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare—"

Ron, who had already been growing redder by the second at how easily his brother had dismissed what he said to be true, finally exploded, his voice almost matching Hope's when she had her explosions.

"IT WASN'T A NIGHTMARE!" Ron bellowed, his voice echoing loudly in the silence. "PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!"

His outburst made a number of people jump rather violently, but Professor McGonagall was not one of them. However, Hope could feel Hermione's hand winding into one of her own, the worry making it shake just slightly. Hope could hardly bring herself to squeeze it back in reassurance, because she was far too surprised by the turn of events.

Professor McGonagall gave him a look that told Hope she didn't believe him for a second. After all, what were the chances of Sirius Black sneaking into Hogwarts a second time?

"Don't be ridiculous, Weasley," she said, but Hope couldn't help but wonder who she was trying to convince: them or herself? "How could he possibly have gotten through the portrait hole?"

"Ask him!" Ron all but demanded, his finger shaking as he jabbed it in the direction of Sir Cadogan's portrait. "Ask him if he saw—"

Clearly very irritated, Professor McGonagall did as he had asked, glaring at him as she pushed through the portrait hole to speak with the painting on the other side. "Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?" she asked in a voice that clearly said she had better things to do than listen to the ramblings of a thirteen-year-old boy.

"Certainly, good lady!" Sir Cadogan agreed, and Hope could hear the clang of metal…he must have fallen off of his horse again, the idiot.

A couple of students goggled slightly at that, having not believed Ron, and Hope was pretty sure that from what little she could see of their Head of House, that the woman was gaping at the painting of the knight.

"You -you did?" she asked, clearly aghast just by the tone of her voice before stuttering out. "But -but the password!"

"He had 'em!" Sir Cadogan agreed, the pride obvious in his voice, as if he thought he'd done something very good and deserved a reward. "Had the whole week's, my lady! Read 'em off a little piece of paper!"

Hope winced. She remembered when Neville had said that he'd convinced Sir Cadogan to tell him the whole week's passwords because he kept changing them…oh, that really sucked…

When Professor McGonagall came back into the common room, her face was so white she could have probably been considered transparent, but then a lot of the Gryffindor students were doing that impression as well.

"Which person, which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week's passwords and left them lying around?" Hope was almost certain that she already knew which student had done so.

Oh, this was going to be a long night.

* * *

Hope was starting to get a bad habit of pondering things late into the night, but she had an insatiable curiosity.

And Sirius Black is a rather curious enigma that deserved to be pondered.

She remembered clearly what Professor Lupin had told her about him: " _He was very anti-Dark; he had to be to be friends with James. James hated the Dark Arts. Don't you?"_

If he was so anti-Dark, then how had he ended up working for the darkest wizard in the world? How could he submit to a man like that if he was so against it? These were the questions that older, more experienced witches and wizards should have been asking, but weren't. After wasn't it simpler to believe a white lie than the honest truth? Of course, that was assuming that Sirius Black was in some way, shape, or form, _innocent_ , and Hope wasn't even sure of that either.

Basically, she was just a huge muddle of confusion, and every question she asked had her even more confused than she had been to start with.

She sighed, silencing a groan as her head throbbed slightly at all those unanswerable questions that she was posing. If Ron was awake he would have told her that she was over thinking it, and Hermione would have said that all of her questions were taking her farther away from her original query.

" _Lumos,"_ she muttered, her wand tip lighting up and illuminating the darkness so much so that Hope had to blink a few times for her eyes to adjust as she pulled out Fred and George's gift to her: the Marauder's Map. The map itself was a bit of a marvel…the amount of detail that was put into it was stunning to say the least, considering how much of Hogwarts there actually was.

She spread out the parchment on her lap, holding her wand over it as she inspected the dots moving about. The dot baring the name Argus Filch was passing by the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Peter Pettigrew—

Wait, _what?_

She turned her eyes to the parchment again, and sure enough, a single dot read Peter Pettigrew. That couldn't be right…either the map was lying, or Peter Pettigrew was in the castle. Either way, Hope was going to have to check it out to be sure.

She slipped into a pair of sturdy boots, pulling the invisibility cloak loose around her shoulders as she carefully maneuvered around her dorm mates, taking her time in descending the staircase and leaving the common room in search of the part on the map at which Peter Pettigrew was said to be. And perhaps it wasn't the smartest decision, but Hope always had a bit of an insatiable curiosity.

Quinn had warned her about it. "Curiosity can get you killed," they'd said with utter surety that Hope thought they were talking about their previous student, Victoria.

But Peter Pettigrew was supposed to be dead…so why was his name appearing on the Map?

Hope pulled out the map, frowning into the darkness. It said that he couldn't be more than ten feet away, but there was nothing, nothing at all.

"Oh, shit," she muttered, noticing Severus Snape's dot coming around the corner, feverishly throwing up her hood. "Mischief Managed. _Nox!"_

Snape was the last person that she would have wanted to meet out and about in the late hours of night, and she had to blink several times at both the brightness of his wand. He paused, surveying the area, looking for any indication that someone had been out after hours.

His eyes bored through her, like he could see her and Hope didn't breathe, but then his eyes moved away and so did he. She waited until he'd rounded the corner before she started breathing again.

But that just added another question with no answers. If Sirius Black had really killed Peter Pettigrew, then how was the latter walking around?

* * *

The earth exploded upwards like a geyser, forcing Hope to jump back to avoid the spray of dirt as she, Ron, and Hermione trudged up from Hagrid's hut, all three in surly moods, but it didn't really help that Hope was already in a bad enough mood. Hence why the earth was erupting; no one said she didn't have an uncontrollable temper. Quinn wouldn't have been impressed, but Quinn wasn't here.

"Careful!" Hermione squeaked, avoiding the dirt as well, and ignoring the glare that was tossed her way.

Hope had barely opened her mouth to retort when a voice distracted the three of them.

"Look at him blubber!"

It was Malfoy ( _of course_ it was Malfoy!) who was standing with his two goons behind one of the massive stones just beyond the stone courtyard, watching the whole thing (which had included Hagrid blowing his nose on a large handkerchief as he told them how south the appeal had gone) with avid eyes.

"Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" Malfoy crowed, his shifty eyes meeting Hope's as he smirked. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"

One would have expected Hope to be the first one to make a move towards the Slytherin trio, but, surprisingly, it was Hermione who was the fastest instead. She had stormed up to the blonde-haired third year and had raised her hand, smacking it as hard as she possibly could across his face, probably hard enough to bruise. Malfoy was forced to stagger backwards in response to the force behind it, much to everyone's surprise.

It seemed as though Hermione didn't realize all of the eyes were on her now, or if she did, it seemed that she didn't really care as she swung her foot back, aiming it forward until the toe of her shoe connected with his shin, making him yelp in pain.

Ron and Hope privately (and not so privately) agreed he deserved it very much.

"Don't you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul -you evil—" Hermione seemed to be beyond rage at this point, forcing Hope and Ron to grab her by the arms, both still very stunned by how she had reacted.

"Hermione!"

"Get off me!" Hermione very nearly snarled to the pair, looking very much like Hope in that instant as she yanked herself free from their somewhat loose grips to withdraw her wand and point it at Malfoy.

In all of the anger that Hermione must have been feeling, this was never a stance that she would have thought that Hermione would ever take. It was much more typical of something that Hope would do.

"Hermione, no!" Ron moaned. "He's not worth it."

And reluctantly, Hermione lowered her wand from Malfoy's terrified face, but just as he thought he was in the clear, she drew her fist back and shot it straight at the cheek she had probably already bruised with her slap.

Malfoy gave a groan of pain before he and his two friends made themselves scarce, leaving Hope and her two friends staring at each other as Hermione breathed in and out heavily.

"Hope, you'd better beat him in the Quidditch final!" Hermione said, her voice higher than usual and edged with demand. "You just better had, because I can't stand it if Slytherin wins!"

"Er…all right," Hope said, glancing down to Hermione's fist which was still clenched tightly. "How's your hand?"

Hermione shook it out with a wince. "It hurts a little, but it was worth it."

"Never thought I'd hear the day where Hermione Granger thought violence was the way to go," Hope said arching an eyebrow, making Hermione flush a little, the color darkening at Ron's next words.

"It was bloody brilliant, that's what it was," he said, grinning and serious at the same time.

"I'll say," Hope said with a grin.

"We're due in Charms," Ron added, still grinning so brightly that he could have outshone the sun. "We'd better go."

Hope wasn't too surprised that Hermione didn't make it to class on time. Really, the girl had been doing too much with all her classes and with doing research with her and Ron to help Hagrid (to no avail, it seemed), it only made sense that she would accidentally sleep through one of their core classes.

But Ron was starting to pick up on them using a Time Turner to make it to all of their classes on time, and sooner or later he was going to figure it out, probably before finals even began.

* * *

"Okay…what about this," Hope said in the midst of a study session in Morea's chamber, the windows cracked to let the cool nighttime air filter through into the sparse chamber, "a frame-up!"

"What makes you so sure this guy's a good person?" Hermione offered instead, not looking up from her arithmancy calculations, still sour that Hope didn't have any issue with them.

"What if Peter Pettigrew is actually the one that sold out your parents?" Ron was eager to hop on that train, anything to keep him from studying. "Think about it…everyone's saying Black and your dad were super close, right? What if Pettigrew got them killed and Black went after him but everyone thought it was his fault?"

Hope pointed a pen at him, having long given up on quills. "Now that's a theory!"

Hermione huffed. "You're just pulling this out of nowhere to keep you from actually studying."

"I'm studying!" the pair protested in annoyance.

"Besides, exams are still a few weeks away," Ron pointed out. "We've got time."

Hermione grumbled a complaint behind her book.

"Oh! Did I tell you that I finally got my patronus to work?" Hope lit up, prodding at Ron. "Wanna see it?"

"Hell yeah!"

Hope pulled out her wand and Hermione's eyes peered over the book, curious despite wanting to study. Hope had been partially right about using Nath as the basis for her happiness for the spell…but then she'd thought about what she'd seen in the Mirror of Erised, of Mirror Lady's proud smile.

"Expecto Patronum!" And from the tip of her wand, a silvery bird blossomed, soaring around the room before fading into mist and vanishing.

"Wicked!" Ron gaped in awe. "What kind of bird was it?"

"A raven," Hope said with certainty. "Cool, yeah?"

Even Hermione had to admit it, but her eyes caught a bit of movement in the mirror mounted against the wall and she could've sworn it was an approving smirk, but then it was gone and Hermione was just left confused.

* * *

Sirius had been lucky that he had been able to make a hasty getaway a few nights before, as Remus had shown up, almost catching him. Still, he thought he was completely insane by hiding in the highest level of the Quidditch stands where no one was sitting, watching as the red and green players flew overhead, but he couldn't help himself. This was his goddaughter for heaven's sake!

She wasn't too hard to pinpoint, despite there being three red heads on the Gryffindor team, mostly because she was the fastest and with the longest hair. She didn't seem to be having much to do, silently searching for the Snitch while her teammates flitted around her, fighting for the Quaffle or fending off attacks by Bludgers.

"And it's Gryffindor in possession," the familiar voice of the commentator that Sirius had seen with Hope at one point, "Alicia Spinner of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no –Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field– WHAM! –nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by –Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina– nice swerve around Montague –duck, Angelina, that's a Bludger!– SHE SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

The crowd roared and the Gryffindor section seemed to almost be vibrating with excitement.

"OUCH!"

Sirius winced in his dog form as the girl –Angelina– who had just scored for Gryffindor was almost flung from her broom as a Slytherin player smashed into her. He had to wince again as one of the red-headed twins, probably not George, flew close to the Slytherin, whacking his bat against the back of his head, making it slam into the handle of the broom.

And that was why Gryffindor-Slytherin matches were by far the dirtiest of them all. And if that wasn't obvious—

Hope had to duck suddenly to avoid a Bludger aimed at her head.

"Ooh, nice try! But Potter's faster than that! Better luck next time!"

Sirius was pretty sure that she had flipped the bird at the boy that had aimed the Bludger at her, speeding towards him before pulling up sharply as he shielded himself, making laughter ripple through the crowd.

Other than that, Hope stayed out of relative trouble, so Sirius could train his eyes on the Chasers and the Beaters as they flew past.

"Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession -no! Gryffindor back in possession and its Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she's streaking up the field– THAT WAS DELIBERATE!"

It seemed that one of the Slytherin Chasers had thought that a Gryffindor Chaser's head was the Quaffle, but Sirius doubted that was the truth.

The piercing whistle blown by Madam Hooch signaled the foul as well as the commentator's voice yelled angrily into his microphone.

"THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING—"

"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way—"

"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!"

Sirius gave a dog-like chuckle at how unfazed 'Jordan' was in the face of the fearsome Minerva McGonagall. Obviously, the younger generations had a bit more balls than his generation (The Marauders were the only ones who had ever dared to be that light-hearted to their Head of House).

Then the Quaffle came out of nowhere, smacking against Hope's chest. She reeled backwards on her broom, resting a hand to the bruised area, looking a bit winded as her boyfriend flew close, hovering protectively with his bat ready to strike.

Hope's ribs felt bruised under her clothes, which was far better than broken in her opinion. But a few bruised ribs weren't going to stop her from catching that Snitch and winning the Cup. And believe it, it was going to happe—

_The Snitch!_

She saw it fluttering close to the Gryffindor goal hoops, but a glance towards Oliver who gave her a barely perceptible shake of the head told her that they needed a few more points before then, so Hope surged forward towards the Slytherin goal hoops. Luckily for her, Malfoy was as gullible on the field as he was off of it, and he followed.

Unfortunately, so did two Bludgers, but that only served to amuse her as she pulled her elbows inward to avoid being hit by the balls, but then they weren't the problem, because the Beaters, Derrick and Bole were closing in, raising their clubs.

Great, they were going to 'mistake' her head for a Bludger. Assholes.

A smirk lit her lips as she shifted the broom upwards at the last possible second, leading to the Beaters' bats to make contact with each other, no doubt leading to some broken bones, or at least bruised egos.

"Ha haaa!" She could hear Lee's happy yells over the enthusiastic cheers from three-fourths of the stadium. "Too bad, boys! You'll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle –Flint alongside her– poke him in the eye, Angelina!– it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke –oh no– Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood, save—!"

But Hope didn't have any time to see if Oliver had actually managed to save the Quaffle, because another Bludger was shot at her and she had to roll to avoid it.

Five minutes later she was nursing a bruised arm as well as the already bruised ribs she had, but she had expected no less coming from Slytherin.

Thunder boomed overhead as the previously clear day which had been growing steadily darker by the hour, until the rain began to pour from the grey-blue clouds. The weather wasn't as horrible as the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, in fact, Hope liked the rain against her face, plastering her hair to her skin.

"Ready to lose, Potter?" Malfoy yelled up to her, earning him a filthy look.

"You first!" She called over the wind.

An echoing ding told her that her team had gained ten more points, putting them at seventy points to ten in favor of Gryffindor, and then luck shined upon her as she caught sight of the golden ball, sparkling from the rain not twenty feet above her.

Grinning in spite of herself, she urged her broom forward, reaching her bruised arm out to catch it when she lost a good bit of speed, much to her surprise. Enraged, she looked back and kicked Malfoy squarely in the face for having the audacity to actually grab her broom.

" _You no good sorry piece of shit!"_ she hollered at him as the Snitch had disappeared once more, making him grin.

"Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I've never seen such tactics!" Hope had to agree with Madam Hooch there as Malfoy slid back onto his broom. She had half the mind to yank her broom out from under him so that he fell a good fifty feet, but she wasn't that mean.

"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan was pretty angry about the whole matter, if his yells didn't make it obvious. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B—"

But the Gryffindor team was fumbling now, their anger causing their movements to become erratic and disorganized. Hope twisted her head around, searching quickly for the Snitch before spotting it fifty feet upwards and to the left. And she shot upward, intent on the ball with Malfoy hot on her trail, but nowhere near as fast as she was.

The Snitch was just out of reach, but she was close, so close to victory that she could practically taste it. She threw herself forward on her broom, somehow managing to snag it by the tips of her fingers before her fingers closed around it completely.

Hope laughed aloud as the rain lightened to a soft drizzle as she thrust her arm up into the air as she aimed her broom downwards to the loudly screaming crowd.

And the only thing better than winning the Cup was George pulling her off her broom and kissing her so hard that she swore she saw stars.

* * *

When it was Hope's turn to enter into the obstacle course that was their Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, she wasn't worried at all. Not to sound arrogant, but Hope knew her stuff.

But she couldn't resist arching an eyebrow when she saw how extensive it was from the outside. "You're serious?"

Professor Lupin spared her a smile. "Yes, I am. Now go have fun."

She glared at him before she set one foot on the ground which conveniently sank right into the padding pool. She moved slowly across the pool, just waiting for- Something slimy grabbed her ankle before she had time to even make a sound, pulling her down into the deeper parts of the pool.

Grindylows were in no way nice to look at. They were a sickly green with teeth a similar color and horns on their heads. Very befitting of a water demon. They also had a nasty habit of strangling its prey. Hope coughed, inhaling seawater as she tugged at the fingers around her throat, clenching her hands around theirs until their brittle bones snapped from the pressure -which was usually the only way to break the grip. Released, she propelled herself upwards with her legs until she could claw her way onto land.

"Lupin!" she yelled over the blood rushing in her head. " _I'm going to kill you!"_ Of course, the situation wasn't life-threatening, considering that Professor Lupin had had to tame the beast a bit before the exam, but still, she didn't like being soaked to the bone.

Hope journeyed forward once more until she found herself before a series of potholes that no doubt hid a Red Cap. She had barely taken a step when an animalistic cry pierced the air and something small flew at her, but Hope had her wand ready this time.

" _Expulso!"_

The Red Cap shrieked as it was flung through the air to land not far away, stunned in one of his potholes, leaving Hope to meander on to the next task which was crossing a marsh, and the lantern hanging ominously from a creature made of smoke told her it was the Hinkypunk trying to give her the wrong directions.

She smirked as if to say "Nice try," and went in the completely opposite direction from it until she came across a trunk that unlatched once she came close enough so that a boggart could erupt out of it. The Blood-Soaked Tree was still the thing Hope feared most and she took a moment to regain the use of her tongue.

" _Riddikulus!"_

The Tree burst into flames, which wasn't truly funny, but it still brought a vindictive smile to Hope's face as she moved past it.

"Well done!" Professor Lupin beamed. "Full marks!"

"But the Grindylow—" Hope started to say.

"You broke his grip on you which is one of the ways to succeed against it," Professor Lupin explained. "Seamus had to do the same."

So, she grinned before bidding him farewell, traipsing off in search of a certain red-haired lad who had just finished one of his OWL's. It was because of him that not much later she found herself dragged through the corridors.

"It's raining," Hope said despite the quirk of her lips in amusement, "and I've got my Arithmancy exam in twenty minutes!"

"Come on, Hope!" George complained, dragging her forward with a roguish grin. "I've been taking OWLs all day!"

"Aw, poor baby!" Hope said, jutting out her lip in an adorable pout that made George gulp nervously. "Poor Georgie's been working so hard!"

"I have!" George said in a falsely affronted voice, trying not to show her how much he liked it when she called him that. "I deserve something for my hard work!" And then he pulled her into the pouring rain, laughing as she jumped as the initial cold. She shoved him, the water pelting her, already soaking through her robes.

"George!"

He laughed, swallowing her protests as he leaned down to claim her lips. Almost as a reflex, Hope reached up to stand on her tip-toes, tangling her thin fingers into his ginger locks, her mouth melding to his as her heart raced in delight.

* * *

After their exams were all done, the trio had made their way down to Hagrid's to check on him since the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had decided Buckbeak was to be put to death.

"Are you sure there's nothing we can do?" Hermione implored as she and Hope cleaned up the mess that was the broken milk jug that Hagrid had just dropped. "Oh, Hagrid there must be!"

"Yeah," Ron added, nodding his head fervently, "what about Dumbledore? Couldn't he—?"

"He's tried," said Hagrid, his voice a picture of misery. "He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all right, but they're scared... Yeh know what Lucius Malfoy's like... threatened 'em, I expect... an' the executioner, Macnair, he's an old pal o' Malfoy's... but it'll be quick an' clean... an' I'll be beside him... "

Hermione glanced to Hope who had been surprisingly silent since they had made the trek down to Hagrid's cabin under the invisibility cloak, and she wasn't at all surprised to see the venomous glare that encompassed her whole face. She wouldn't have been too surprised if her friend sprouted fangs.

"Dumbledore's gonna come down while it –while it happens," Hagrid continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "Wrote me this mornin'. Said he wants ter –ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore..."

Hermione's eyes were slowly filling with tears, and her hand shook where it was holding a new milk jug. "We'll stay with you too, Hagrid," she tried to insist, but Hope could see it in her eyes; she didn't want to watch.

"Yeh're ter go back up ter the castle," he disagreed. "I told yeh, I don' wan' yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn' be down here anyway...If Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Hope, yeh'll be in big trouble."

Hope scowled further, but she was distracted by a shriek from Hermione that had made them all jump. "Ron, I don't believe it –it's Scabbers!"

Ron stared at her, not quite understanding what it was that she was saying. "What are you talking about?"

He didn't have long to wonder as Hermione overturned the jug to pour out a very thin, very malnourished rat.

"Scabbers!" Ron said in shock. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?" Not that the rat could have answered either way. He looked rather terrified if the way he tried to lunge out of Ron's fingers was any indication.

"It's okay, Scabbers!" Ron tried to console the rat. "No cats! There's nothing here to hurt you!"

"They're comin'..." Hagrid had gone stark white, his face intent on the figures outside of the window fast approaching the cabin. "Yeh gotta go. They mustn' find yeh here...Go now...I'll let yeh out the back way."

The three followed him, doing as he said, but keeping silent because they could all see how barely held-together he was.

"Go on," he said. "Get goin'."

It was only then that Hope finally spoke, her eyes wide and a muddy brown, "Hagrid, we can't—"

"We'll tell them what really happened—" Hermione insisted.

"They can't kill him—" Ron added.

But Hagrid was beyond that, only bidding them to leave, which they did, moving quickly up the sloping lawn until they could look down at the cabin, but Ron and Hermione couldn't stomach looking, and even Hope with her morbid curiosity still winced her eyes shut when the axe struck downwards.

"They did it!" Hermione said in unabashed horror, her voice choked and her brown eyes wide with horror. "I d-don't believe it– they did it! How–could–they? How _could_ they?"

Ron tugged gently on Hermione's arm with the hand that he wasn't using to keep a tight grip on Scabbers with. "Come on, we need to go."

"And do what?" Hope muttered beside him. "How can we leave Hagrid?"

"We have to," Ron insisted before clamping his hand down on his pet. "Scabbers, keep still, what's the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still– OUCH! He bit me!"

"Ron, be quiet!" Hermione moaned. "Fudge'll be out here in a minute—"

"He won't-stay-put-What's the _matter_ with him?"

"Maybe that," Hope said nodding towards the tell-tale thick ginger tail.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione complained. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!"

"Scabbers –NO!"

The cat was already racing across the lawn before Scabbers had finally freed himself from Ron's grip, and Ron was forced to throw the cloak off himself in order to chase after him. Hope wasn't sure why he'd bothered; Scabbers was nearly impossible to see in this level of darkness and with his small size.

"Ron!" Hope yelled after him, before sharing a look with Hermione as they opted to run after him, tossing her cloak and bag off her as she went.

"Get away from him-get away-Scabbers, come here—" Ron lurched to catch the rat by the tip of his tail before saying in triumph _. "Gotcha!_ Get off, you stinking cat—"

Hermione stared in dismay. "Hope, do you realize what tree this is?"

Hope did. It was the only tree everyone knew to stay away from. The Whomping Willow, the only tree that hit back. "Oh, _shit!_ Ron, get away from there! Run!"

But when Ron turned to look at her, his eyes fastened on something behind her. "Hope, Hermione! Look out, it's the Grim!"

Hope whipped around in time for the great black dog's front paws to collide with her chest, sending her sprawling as Hermione gave a sharp cry of fear, not able to move fast enough as the beast's teeth latched onto Ron's leg, dragging him quickly to the trunk.

"Ron—!"

_"Look out!"_

Hermione was thrown to the side by Hope bodily slamming against her in an effort to avoid a thick and thorn-covered branch of the Whomping Willow. Hope barely heard the loud crack of broken bone over the blood rushing in her skull.

"Hope," Hermione gasped as they pulled themselves upright, avoiding another branch, "Hope, we've got to go for help!"

"And leave Ron behind?" Hope demanded angrily, a cut on her left temple bleeding profusely. "No way in hell!"

"But—" Hermione started weakly.

"Are you coming or not?" she asked. "Because I'm not leaving Ron to fend for himself."

The fear that clouded her eyes cleared somewhat to be replaced with determination, but then it faltered slightly. "But how do we get in?" she bemoaned.

It seemed that they didn't have long to wait as Crookshanks raced past them, neatly passing by the branches that held the two girls at bay to rest his paws against a knot on the trunk. And, as if a switch had been flipped, the branches seemed to have been turned to stone.

"Well," Hope coughed, "that always works. Let's go before it remembers how to move."

Hermione allowed herself to be pulled forward, still very stunned at what had happened to Ron and what her cat was capable of. Hope slid down into the tunnel before holding out a hand to Hermione. "Come on, we should hurry."

This time, Hermione didn't disagree. "Where do you think this tunnel comes out?" she asked, out of breath.

"Dunno," Hope murmured, squeezing her fingers, "Fred and George say that no one's ever gotten into it, so…" She didn't bother finishing her train of thought as they followed the trail of paw prints and drag marks. There were only two rooms and the one with an open door had been boarded up with broken furniture thrown in every direction as if they had been ripped apart in a rage.

"Hope," Hermione whispered, making Hope jump a little "I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

Hope didn't bother to deny it, this time both of them jumping as something moved above them. Hope held a finger to her lips and Hermione gave a resolute nod and they crept slowly and silently up the stairs.

And, abandoning all pretenses, Hope thrust the door open to see— "Ron!"

Ron was clutching at his mangled leg with one hand and the frantically trying to escape Scabbers with the other from where he was sitting on the worn sofa.

"Ron –are you okay?" Hermione asked, relief coloring her face.

"Where's the dog?" Hope insisted.

"Not a dog," Ron gasped out despite his pain. "Hope, it's a trap –he's the dog, he's an Animagus!"

And Hope turned on her heel to meet the grey eyes of Sirius Black.

It was his eyes that caught her the most, because they were still soft, but also pained, like he was used to her eyes belonging to someone else. Was this really Sirius Black? He seemed… _fractured_. It was as if his time in Azkaban had broken something inside of him, replacing his liveliness with a gaunt mask.

"I thought you'd come help your friend," he said, his voice raspy with disuse, like how Hope's sounded now. "Your father would have done the same for me. Brave of you, not to run for a teacher. I'm grateful...it will make everything much easier..."

Hope tensed. "I know he would have," she said carefully, watching him impassively. "You were friends, weren't you? The best of friends?"

She ignored how Hermione tried to pull her back from where she was standing protectively in front of her and Ron.

Hope was nothing like her parents, standing there with that severe look on her face was unfamiliar to Sirius, but shielding her friends from harm? That was all her parents.

"If you want to kill Hope, you'll have to kill us too!" Ron's sudden words startled her from her intent focus on the wasted man before her and she had to hold tightly to Ron's elbow to keep him from keeling over. Judging by the pallor of his face, though, the movement had caused him a great deal of pain.

"Ron," she tried to say, but this time it was Black that interrupted her.

"Lie down," he said in a voice that was much softer and quieter than before. "You will damage that leg even more."

"Did you hear me?" Ron demanded, somehow keeping his voice level and strong despite his pain, swaying as he kept a tight grip on Hope. "You'll have to kill all three of us!"

Hope watched as the light of memory faded from his eyes to be replaced with a madness and a grin to match. "There'll be only one murder here tonight."

_Crack!_

Hope was breathing hard and her fist was aching from the punch she had just delivered to the man's face (she bitterly hoped that it broke something).

"What the ruddy _hell_ is wrong with you?!" she demanded as she stalked over to the crumpled man, hoisting him up and onto his knees by the front of his ragged robes. "I've spent _months_ wondering if what everyone has been saying is the truth!"

His eyes widened.

"Because I find it _incredibly_ hard to believe that someone so Anti-Dark just went over to Voldemort's side!" Hope snapped, shaking him violently. "Especially since you only knocked me out on Halloween and didn't kill me, oh, yeah," she added, her eyes gleaming manically as his eyes widened further, "I know that was you!"

"I don't deny it," he said finally, "and I regret it."

"You gave me a concussion," she spitefully rasped, her knuckles white, like she hadn't clipped him with her knife.

Black dipped his head just barely enough, like Hope was a mother scolding her child. "I regret it," he repeated, "but you don't understand –the whole story–"

"Then explain it," Hope growled, her eyes turning so dark that they were almost black as coal. She was so intensely focused on Black that she almost missed the sound of quiet footsteps beneath them, but she certainly didn't miss Hermione's scream.

"WE'RE UP HERE! WE'RE UP HERE –SIRIUS BLACK– QUICK!"

And within seconds the door was thrown open to reveal Professor Lupin standing framed in the doorway. His face was pale, almost snow white, his scars much more prominent, and his wand was held firmly in his hand.

"Hope, let him go."

She glared at him from where she was holding the former prisoner of Azkaban. "The _hell_ I will!" she growled. "I want some _fucking_ answers!"

Hermione whimpered from where she was holding up Ron in Hope's stead.

"Hope—"

She glowered fiercely, but under his stare, she relented, dropping the man to the floor and moving back to her friends' sides without taking her eyes off Black, though she couldn't help but be confused when Professor Lupin asked the man a decidedly strange question: "Where is he, Sirius?"

And when he pointed towards Ron, her confusion only increased.

"What're they going on about?" Ron whispered to her, but Hermione only hushed him.

"Do you still have your wand?" Hope hissed out of the corner of her mouth, not taking her eyes off the pair before them, and Ron gave a miniscule nod. "Keep it close."

"Why hasn't he shown himself before now?" Lupin was saying. "Unless–unless he was the one...unless you switched...without telling me?"

It seemed almost out of relief when Black nodded, and within seconds he had thrown his arms around Black and hugged him tightly like two recently reacquainted siblings who had had a falling out years previously.

Hope stared at them, not quite sure how to respond to anything. _What the—?_

Hermione reacted the harsh opposite on any way that Hope possibly could have by screaming: "DON'T BELIEVE IT!"

"You-you—" she gasped as Professor Lupin released Black.

"Hermione—" He tried to say.

"—You and him!" she cried, clutching tightly to her wand as if it was her lifeline.

"Hermione, calm down—" But Hermione wasn't going to calm down, she was on a roll.

"I didn't tell anyone! I've been covering up for you—"

Hope and Ron shared a confused look.

"Hermione, listen to me, please," Professor Lupin had to shout over her to be heard. "I can explain—"

"We trusted you!" she yelled, "and all this time, you've been his friend!"

"You're wrong," Professor Lupin was quick to disagree. "I haven't always been Sirius's friend, but I am now– Let me explain..."

But Hermione was beyond reason, and Hope was actually a little impressed. " _NO!_ Hope, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too – he's a werewolf!"

Hope briefly started in surprise, but honestly, she should've seen it…he was always curiously sick about once a month, Lavender had said something about him being afraid of a crystal ball after that disastrous boggart lesson, but what if it had been the full moon instead?

"Not at all up to your usual standard, Hermione," Professor Lupin said, an odd calm keeping his voice level, but with obvious strain. "Only one out of three, I'm afraid. I have not been helping Sirius get into the castle and I certainly don't want Hope dead. But I won't deny that I am a werewolf."

There was the longest silence, broken by Hope snorting. "Okay, and?" she prodded. "Who cares? I want some fucking answers from him—" She gestured angrily at Sirius. "—about that night, about _my parents—"_

"I can explain—" Sirius took a step forward quickly, but the movement was too sharp and Hope flinched back. Ron and Hermione glowered immediately at her sides and Sirius' throat went dry. Did she think he would—? "Please," he said weakly. "Let me explain."

"If you havn't been helping Black," Hermione spoke up in a voice that trembled, cold and angry as it was, "then how did you know that he was here?"

Professor Lupin brought out a bit of folded parchment that had Hope swearing. He smiled faintly. "You left the Map inside _Astral Projection: Bending Space and Time_."

"I knew I was missing something," Hope grumbled under her breath. "Quinn'll kill me…" Then she started in surprise, looking on him with increased suspicion. "Wait—you know it's a map? You got it to work?"

Professor Lupin gave a small sigh. "Of course, I know how to work it," he said with impatience, "I helped write it. I'm Moony –that was my friends' nickname for me at school. The important thing is, I was watching it carefully this evening, because I had an idea that you, Ron, and Hermione might try and sneak out of the castle to visit Hagrid before his hippogriff was executed. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Well, no need to be so proud of yourself, anyone could figure that out," Hope muttered and Professor Lupin gave her a faint smile.

"I watched you cross the grounds and enter Hagrid's hut. Twenty minutes later, you left Hagrid, and set off back toward the castle. But you were now accompanied by somebody else."

"You're mental," Ron decided from the sofa. "It was just us!"

"I couldn't believe my eyes," their professor continued. "I thought the map must be malfunctioning. How could he be with you?"

"No one was there!" Hermione disagreed.

"And then I saw another dot, moving fast toward you, labelled Sirius Black... I saw him collide with you; I watched as he pulled two of you into the Whomping Willow—"

 _"One of us!"_ Ron snapped angrily, his leg very much a sore point.

"No, Ron. _Two_ of you." His eyes met Ron's. "Do you think I could have a look at the rat?"

"What?" Ron said, a little stunned by the sudden change of subject. "What're you talking about? What's Scabbers got to do with it?"

 _"Everything_ ," said Professor Lupin, breathless in excitement. "Could I see him, please?"

Hope could see his hesitation, even as he withdrew the frantically thrashing rat from his packet. "What's Scabbers got to do with anything?" Ron demanded.

"That's not a rat." Hope couldn't resist jumping a little at Black's worn voice. She had almost forgotten he was there.

"What d'you mean –of course he's a rat—" Ron said in a voice that said that he clearly thought that they were barmy.

"No, he's not. He's a wizard," Professor Lupin disagreed, not taking his eyes off of the struggling rat.

"An Animagus," Black continued, "by the name of Peter Pettigrew."

"You've got to be kidding me," Hope and Ron said as one, Hope aghast, while Ron was thunderstruck, and even Hermione couldn't help but be mildly impressed.

"There's no fucking way—"

"Okay, hang on—" Ron was turning red. "Did Pettigrew get Hope's parents killed and then Black went after him, but everyone thought it was his fault?"

Both Professor Lupin and Black stared. "Uh," Professor Lupin said intelligently. "Yes, how did you—?"

"There's _no way,"_ Hermione said dubiously.

 _"Ron!_ Are you a _seer?"_ Hope gripped Ron's shoulder, gaping.

 _"No!_ What-that's _ridiculous!"_ Ron sputtered, wincing.

Professor Lupin and Black were suddenly viscerally reminded that they were dealing with teenagers.

"Hold still, Ron, I can totally fix that bone—"

"You haven't used that spell more than once!" Ron leaned back quickly, suddenly apprehensive.

"Purging basilisk venom, healing a broken bone," Hope shrugged like she was weighing the options. "Not much of a difference is there?"

"Hang on—" Black tried to interject. "Basilisk venom?"

 _"Shove off!"_ Hope and Ron snapped only for Ron's so dissolve into whimpers when Hope gripped his leg with one hand, intoning " ** _Heal!"_**

There was a sharp click and Ron yelped, looking down at the leg while Hope swiped her hands against each other before turning back to the pair of adults that were evidently deeply disconcerted. Black's eyes, though, were still fixed on the rat still thrashing in Ron's grip.

 _"Besides_ ," Hermione said sharply, slightly relieved that the bone had at least been repaired, regaining a bit of her voice, "how can Scabbers be Peter Pettigrew? I mean, wouldn't people know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus? We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework –the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there's a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things... and I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew's name wasn't on the list."

" _Seriously?"_ Ron and Hope said at the same time completely dumbstruck.

"You put that much effort into—?" Hope said, her jaw unhinging, making a small flush appear on Hermione's cheeks at the veiled compliment.

"That is very true," Professor Lupin agreed, ignoring Hope and Ron's interjection. "But the Ministry never knew that here used to be three unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts."

A sudden creak below them forced them all to remain silent for a few moments, as if awaiting the thing that had made the sound, but nothing came as Professor Lupin checked the door and the landing for anything. "No one there," he murmured, almost to himself.

"This place is haunted!" Ron said, his eyes darting around nervously as if waiting for a ghost to materialize through the walls and attack him.

"Actually, it isn't," Professor Lupin disagreed, eyeing the doorway in curiosity. "The Shrieking Shack was never haunted... The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me." He sighed, running a hand through his grey-streaked hair. "That's where all of this starts –with my becoming a werewolf, none of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitter... and if I hadn't been so foolhardy..."

He sighed heavily and explained, explained how young he'd been when he was bitten, how Snape had been making him the Wolfsbane Potion all year so he could be a harmless werewolf, but how it hadn't been the same when he was younger, before the potion existed. Professor Lupin wouldn't have even been able to go to a school if Dumbledore hadn't made certain allowances, like planting the Whomping Willow over a tunnel that led into the Shrieking Shack to stop anyone from coming across Professor Lupin while he was transformed.

Professor Lupin's story was a tragic one, from any viewpoint. Hope couldn't imagine having to undergo the pain of a transformation from such a young age.

"...But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, three great friends. Sirius Black...Peter Pettigrew...and, of course, your father, Hope–James Potter. Now, my three friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her...I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they worked out the truth..."

Professor Lupin's pale eyes lingered on Hermione briefly.

"And they didn't desert me at all," he said with a sad smile of remembrance. "Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi."

Hope choked on air at that new information. "You have got to be _kidding_ me!" she said, completely struck. "What—?"

A rusty chuckle erupted and Hope had a hard time pinpointing where on earth it was coming from before she realized that it was coming from Black.

"But how would that help you?" Hermione asked, enthralled in his tale, "wouldn't you just attack them?"

"A werewolf is only a danger to humans," Professor Lupin explained, "while animals can come and go around them as they please. So, in their Animagi forms, they would be safe from me."

"Were they?" Ron couldn't help but ask.

A wry smile wormed its way onto his lips. "There were a few close calls," he admitted, "but we laughed about them later, we were young and thoughtless and I often felt guilty about not telling Dumbledore of how my friends were helping me…" His face darkened slightly into an expression that Hope would never have recognized on his face. "I have been battling with myself all year whether or not to tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus, but I was too cowardly to admit that I had betrayed his trust during my time at school…I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it... so, in a way, Snape's been right about me all along."

Hope scowled.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Severus was quite interested in where I went once a month," Professor Lupin told them, "our group of friends were stark enemies with him and his friends. Sirius thought it would be… _clever_ to tell him how to get into the Shrieking Shack, and if not for your father, Hope, I do not doubt I would have killed him, or at least bit him."

Hope was glaring now. "That doesn't explain why he's got it out for you!"

"He thought you were in on it," Hermione assumed.

"That's right."

Hope almost gave herself whiplash as she whirled around to see Snape removing the invisibility cloak from him.

Naturally the first thing out of her mouth was a hateful hiss, _"Hands off!"_ But it was ignored because Snape's focus was primarily on Black, his eyes glittering with something that Hope considered just a sliver of madness.

"Ah, vengeance is sweet," he murmured softly. "How I hoped I'd be the one to catch you."

Hope reached behind her to grasp the hilt of the knife secured to the back of her belt, bringing it out silently.

Professor Lupin tried to interject there, but that only drew Snape's attention to him instead, and his eyes narrowed as his lips drew back into a sneer. "Ah, Lupin… I told Dumbledore you were helping your old friend into the castle. And here's the proof."

"Are you completely mental?" Ron had beaten Hope to the punch line, gaping at the potions professor as if he'd never seen anything like him in his life, but apparently the professor had deemed the three third years too insignificant to matter at this point, his attention focused completely on the two men.

"He does realize he sounds a little mad, doesn't he?" Ron asked the girls.

"He probably doesn't care," Hermione said a bit sagely. "Hope, what're you _doing?"_

Hope was currently carving a sigil into the palm of her hand.

"Two more for Azkaban tonight," said Snape, his eyes a bit wild. "I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this... He was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin... a _tame_ werewolf—"

Hope had to commend Professor Lupin for his lack of reaction to the jibe, as he instead said: "You fool. Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?"

Before either party had time to blink, Hope had held her hand out and shouted, just as Snape's wand had snapped up, releasing a sharp bang. But whatever his spell was supposed to do, it didn't have the chance to, because, between him and Professor Lupin and Black was a pearly shield, rippling under the force of his spell, but remaining strong.

Snape turned around viciously to see Hope with her outstretched bloody palm, knife in her other hand. "Potter!" he spat.

But Hermione and Ron moved quicker.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Ron and Hermione looked at each other, both startled that the other had hexed their professor, though Ron couldn't help but be impressed by Hermione's nerve as the force of their spell sent Snape flying and crashing into the landing where he didn't move.

Hope tightened her grip on the knife, bloodied hand still raised even as the shield faded. "Don't move. I can carve the 'attack' sigil into my other hand in a second flat."

"Are those blood runes?" Black asked vaguely impressed.

Hope ignored that, eyes on Professor Lupin. "You said you can prove that Pettigrew is Scabbers?"

"Yes," he agreed quickly, "it's a simple spell."

Hope met his eyes head-on and after a very long moment, she nodded. "Ron, give him Scabbers."

"What? Why?" Ron demanded, curling his hands protectively around his pet.

"Ron, if he's just a rat, it won't hurt him," Hermione explained a bit impatiently, "just give it to him."

Ron looked between Hope and Hermione, before holding out the thrashing rodent to his professor. "But, he's been in my family for ages," he disagreed, "how could he be—?"

"Twelve years," Professor Lupin said with a pained grimace, "but he's not looking too good, is he?"

"It's 'cause of that batty cat," Ron said, tossing a glare to Crookshanks who was licking his paws and watching the proceedings with interest.

"No, it's not." Hermione's eyes had drifted a bit out of focus as she said those words.

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when the three of us were in Diagon Alley?" she implored the other two. "You were going to get some rat tonic for Scabbers because you thought he'd gotten something while you were in Egypt." They'd poked fun at Hope and George for a little while, and had left after Diane had gone, leaving Mrs. Weasley in a tizzy.

The idea that Scabbers had been terrified since Black had escaped from Azkaban was hard to believe of a common garden rat. However, if he was more than that, if he was a wizard in hiding, that would make much more sense.

And the whole deal with Crookshanks being out to get him now made much more sense, seeing as he was part-Kneazle, which was a species well known for their intelligence. It didn't surprise Hope too badly that he had been helping Black all year try to get to the rat.

So, it really hadn't been Neville's fault that his list of passwords had been found by Black. Poor Neville, getting the brunt of the blame for something that wasn't his fault.

"Ready, Sirius?"

Hermione gripped Hope's shoulder, looking worried and intrigued at the same time.

"On the count of three. One–two–THREE!"

The bright flash of light that erupted from their combined wands blinded Hope and she had to raise an arm up over her eyes to block the light. Spots filled her vision and she had to blink several times, and then they widened to an almost comical size. Because there was now a third man in the room.

This man was far less impressive than Black and Professor Lupin were. For one, he was short, hardly half a head taller than Hope or Hermione, his skin was patchy and grimy, the exact color of Scabbers' fur, even his eyes were like a rat's, darting toward the exit every few seconds.

This man was the person responsible for her parents' murder?

Disgust curled her lips.

"S-Sirius, R-Remus, my old friends!" he stuttered out, attempting a weak smile at their presence, but it fell flat very quickly, and he twisted around, his eyes latching onto Hope as he came close.

"Hope! L-look at you, you look so much like your moth—"

Hope launched her fist, slammed it into his grubby cheek and sending him reeling backwards clutching at the cheek that was no doubt throbbing now.

Hermione had to reel her back upright when she pitched forward at the force of her punch.

 _"How dare you!"_ Black snarled, his voice much darker than before. "How _dare_ you speak to Hope! How dare you talk about _Lily_ in front of her!"

"You sold James and Lily to Voldemort, didn't you?" Professor Lupin demanded of the rat Animagus from where he was huddling behind a ruined table.

"I didn't _mean_ to!" he whimpered.

"Like I'd believe that!" Hope snapped, struggling as Hermione kept a firm arm wrapped around her waist and Ron –not wanting to be left out– had staggered upright, tentatively testing the healed leg before joining Hermione in restraining Hope.

"The Dark Lord! You have no idea the weapons he possesses! Sirius, what would you have done?"

Hope could practically see the fire burning in Black's eyes as Pettigrew ducked under the table, scurrying across the floor.

"I would have died!" he raged. "I would have died rather than betray my friends! And you should have realized, Peter, that if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would! Together!"

Hope would've been okay with that.

"Stop!"

Ron had stepped forward, pale and unsteady, but resolute. And no matter how much he trembled -from strain or fear, it was impossible to tell-, his wand remained completely steady. "You can't kill him!" he insisted, falteringly.

"Ron," Professor Lupin said faintly, "this man murdered your best friend's parents."

"And he should face the dementors for it," Hermione butted in quickly, taking note of Hope's indifference, and being the voice of reason. "If he's dead, there's no one to say you're innocent."

She met his hard eyes uneasily. "That's got to be important to you. You don't want to leave your goddaughter in an abusive household, do you?"

Sirius reeled back startled, eyes flicking towards Hope, who looked away quickly. "No," he said thickly, "I'd take her away in a moment."

Hope's eyes shot up to meet his again, just as quickly, while Professor Lupin trussed up Pettigrew. "So, what happened?" Hope asked, the wood creaking beneath her. "What _really_ happened?"

Sirius licked his lips, his mouth feeling uncommonly dry. "It was my idea," he said, regretting it so much. "I thought it was the perfect plan…a bluff…Voldemort would be sure to come after me, after all, why would James and Lily choose someone as _weak_ and _talentless_ as Wormtail." He gave a faint huff. "James argued, of course, but Lily…I sometimes wonder if she knew."

"What d'you mean?" Hope frowned, thinking of how she never got a death wrong.

"She said 'No matter who we choose, the result will be the same'," Sirius said heavily. "She was the one prepared, she had extensive…there was a will, a plan in place if they both died…she must've known they were-they—" Sirius' voice faltered and died and he bowed his head forward, swallowing hard and continuing on.

"The night they died, I'd arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe, but when I arrived at his hiding place, he'd gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle." He threw a glower to the quivering mass that was Pettigrew. "It didn't feel right. I was scared. I set out for your parents' house straight away. And when I saw their house, destroyed, and their bodies… I realized what Peter must've done… what _I'd_ done…" His eyes were overly bright, like the shine seen when one was holding back their tears. "I would've gone right after him, but…I couldn't leave you there…you were already burned and scared and crying, I couldn't just leave you—" It sounded like he was trying convince her and Hope took a few cautious steps forward, taking his hand gently, but he squeezed it so tight, like her hand was his lifeline that he couldn't lose it or he'd drown completely.

Like Nath had been for her.

"The iris," Hope said quietly, "on my shoulder…that was you?"

Sirius nodded hollowly. "I left you with Hagrid and my motorbike and I took off after Pettigrew. When I cornered him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. Then, before I could curse him, he blew apart the street with the wand behind his back, killed everyone within twenty feet of himself — and sped down into the sewer with the other rats…"

Hope gave the cowering Pettigrew an absolutely filthy look. Nath had always said to be careful of what she said in anger. "Sometimes, what you want, you can speak into the world," he'd said sagely, like how he warned her never to scream unless completely alone, as far from human civilization as possible.

But this time, Hope didn't care; Pettigrew _deserved_ a good curse.

"You are going to rot, forgotten, and no one will ever remember your name," Hope hissed wrathfully and he recoiled with a whimper.

Hope turned back to Sirius, looking at the lank black hair, the sunken cheeks, the haunted eyes, and she said the most powerful thing she was capable of. "I forgive you," she said.

And Sirius Black, who spent years upon years in the worst place in the world, constantly surrounded by reminders that he had failed two of the people that he had loved the most, with only the barest hope that maybe one day he would be able to tell his goddaughter that he hadn't meant for any of it to happen, and how sorry he was, and he was innocent of the crimes they said he'd committed…Sirius couldn't help but break apart.

His shoulders trembled and Hope was so very small and jaded and full of rage, but she hugged him tightly like she was afraid he'd vanish into smoke if she was any less tight. And Sirius gave a half-sob of relief, responding just as tightly, neither of them seeming to notice when Pettigrew began to wail even as Professor Lupin trussed him in bindings.

"I saw you," Sirius admitted once they'd parted. "Before term started…you were on a bike—"

"To go to Nath's potluck at work," Hope realized with a laugh. "Nath said I had a habit of attracting strays, but I wasn't sure what he was talking about…"

Sirius remembered the man with terrifying eyes. "Who is he?"

"My godfather, well, one I picked myself," Hope offered helpfully, patting at one leg. "I got in a bad accident when I was ten, and he saved me and stuck around…gave me a reason to stick around, I suppose."

She sounded so utterly fond that Sirius couldn't bring up the eyes behind the sunglasses. "But your scar…" It had been different, then, he remembered, more precise and simpler…this one was like fragmented lightning.

"I missed the train," Hope admitted grimly, "Dean, one of my friends, was with me, we'd gone to see Nath, he'd been shot and was in the hospital, so we took my broom to follow after the train, and, well, we got shot out of the sky."

Sirius' grip on her shoulders was nearly painful and Hope was reminded of Diane's fury when she'd come to Hogwarts.

"Avada Kedavra right to the face," Hope grimaced, not quite able to shrug helplessly. "Apparently the guy was a Death Eater, one of Voldemort's followers, the Aurors said. He tried to kill Dean but I pushed him out of the way…Madam Pomfrey reckons my voice probably won't ever recover."

Sirius' eyes drifted to the obvious line across her throat and he was furious and so very, very sad. He pressed a hand to his eyes and Hope patted his hand kindly. "It's all right, I'm alive, and George assures me that's what matters the most."

Sirius gave a disparaging grunt at the mention of her boyfriend, but in that instance, he had to agree with him.

Hope tugged on his hand. "Come on, Padfoot, they'll leave us behind!"

It wasn't hard to figure out which names went with which Marauder. Professor Lupin had already admitted to Moony, and rats had tails similar to worms, she supposed, so that made Pettigrew Wormtail, and Sirius transformed into a dog, so Padfoot was the only option, really.

But Sirius still appreciated it, a Potter calling him by that name once again. He held tightly to her hand as they went down the stairs slowly.

"I guess hings haven't been…good at your aunt and uncle's house," he said finally, making Hope pause as they reached the entrance of the Whomping Willow, "but, well, once my name's cleared…if you wanted a-a different home…"

"I could come and live with you?" Hope asked completely stunned, her eyes wide and mouth twisting into a grin. "I've wanted to be taken away from them for years!"

"Yeah?" A small smile warmed across Sirius' face. "Seriously?"

"Actually, you'd be Sirius…"

He couldn't resist giving a bark of laughter. "Ah, now that's James' wit talking."

"You're welcome," Hope said impishly with a grin to match the shining full moon. Wait—

"Oh, no!" she gasped.

"What is—" And then he saw it to and his eyes grew. "Run. Run, _now!"_

"But, Ron, Hermione—" Hope battled against him to reach her friends, but Sirius tossed her aside.

"Leave it to me, just RUN!"

Watching Professor Lupin transform was probably the worst thing that Hope had seen by far, because it just had to be painful. It was like watching some type of sped up growth. The fur sprouted all over his body which was growing and lengthening. He had focused his attention on Hope where she had fallen and for a moment, she found herself quite unable to move. A true fear had gripped her entire body when Sirius had leapt over her in his dog form, his teeth fastening onto Lupin's throat as he dragged him away from Ron and Hermione, both who looked quite terrified.

_Bang!_

The sudden noise rang out and echoed, and for a moment Hope had thought she had been shot, but then Ron was thrown back a little, slumping limply to the ground.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ Hermione screamed.

But that had given Pettigrew ample amount of time to transform, and Hope and Hermione could only watch wordlessly as her shrunk into the form of a rat once more and disappeared into the grass.

Hope swore loudly, and then she heard the whimpers of pain. "Sirius! _Sirius!"_

"Hope, no!" But Hope had slipped from Hermione and was already racing through the ferns and down the hill to the lake where the sounds must have been coming from.

"Sirius!" Hope screamed, skidding on the pebbles as she ran to his side. He had phased back to his human form, but he was trembling and his eyes were wild with terror and pain. " _Nooo…nooo, please."_

The heaviness of the air had grown thicker and colder, and the lake was beginning to turn to ice, much like Hope's blood in her veins.

"No," she repeated, "no, no, no!" Her fingers fumbled with the butt of her wand before she finally managed to grasp it and pull it out. "Think of something happy," she muttered feverishly to herself, "something happy."

Laughing with Ron and Hermione, kissing George, her parents smiling down on her—

 _"Expecto Patronum!"_ Only a bit of silver mist emitted from the end of her wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ But the longer she tried the incantation, the less it seemed to work. "Come on!"

" _Expecto_ …" she gasped, her world going fuzzy as a Dementor gripped her by her neck. "I swear on my father's grave," she muttered with difficulty, "I'm going to give you the worst case of indigestion ever!"

She could hardly see the Dementor as if lowered its hood, shouting echoing in her ears, some voices she recognized, other's she didn't, practically vibrating in her ears, before something bright rammed into it, forcing Hope from its grip and sending her sprawling.

The last image that she saw was something she wouldn't have guessed; a fluttering raven sending off waves of blue-white light that forced the Dementors back, and after that, Hope knew no more.

* * *

Everything was of muddle of blurred voices that Hope couldn't make heads or tails of; the only thing that she was really aware of was the dull ache of her body. What on earth had she fallen on?

She opened her eyes after a long silence at the sound of a sharp bang, forcing her to sit up in her hospital bed and reach for her wand.

"Easy, Hope."

Her eyes, wild for a moment, met Madam Pomfrey's, and it was then that she realized that the woman was holding a hammer which she was using on a large slab of chocolate to break into smaller pieces.

"How's Ron? Is he all right?" Hermione asked, surprising Hope who hadn't even realized was awake, and Hope looked to see Ron still unconscious and pale in the bed opposite her; whatever Pettigrew had hit him with had been hard.

"He'll live," Madam Pomfrey said darkly, and she would have said more if not for Hope throwing off her covers and standing up. "Hope, what are you—"

"Where's Sirius?"

Madam Pomfrey started slightly at the familiarity Hope used towards the man who supposedly wanted her dead. "He's locked away upstairs, in the highest towers. The Dementors will be performing—"

Hope grabbed the older woman's shoulders, the wild look returning to her eyes. "But they can't do that! He's innocent!"

"It's true, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione insisted at her side, "Ron and I were both there. It was Peter Pettigrew who betrayed Hope's parents, not Sirius. He's an Animagus, he's been Ron's rat—"

"It's the truth, Poppy!" Hope insisted as the Matron looked them over. They certainly didn't appear to be Confunded as Severus had claimed, but what they were saying was _ludicrous!_

"I—"

"I would like to speak to Hope and Hermione alone."

Three pairs of eyes looked up to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the frame of the doorway, his face uncharacteristically serious.

"Headmaster!" Madam Pomfrey said, half stunned, half indignant. "They need treatment, they need rest—"

"This cannot wait," said Dumbledore. "I must insist."

It was only when Madam Pomfrey had gone that Hope and Hermione burst into speech.

"Headmaster, you've got to stop them! They've got the wrong man!" Hermione insisted.

"Sirius is innocent!" Hope added. "We saw Pettigrew, he was there!"

"—he escaped when Professor Lupin turned into a werewolf—"

"You've got to believe us!"

"I do," Dumbledore said calmly, much more calmly than the two thirteen-year-olds in front of him appeared to be. "I do, Miss Potter. But I'm sorry to say the word of two thirteen-year-old witches and one wizard will convince few others."

"So, what do we do?" Hope demanded. "We can't just sit here and let the Dementors suck out Sirius' soul!"

A hint of a smile curved Dumbledore's lips, hardly noticeable behind his white beard, but then his eyes weren't on theirs anymore, but on the clock in the corner of the hospital wing.

"Mysterious thing, time," he mused in a vague voice that wouldn't have been out of place with Luna Lovegood. "Powerful. And, when meddled with... dangerous. Sirius Black is in the topmost cell of the Dark Tower." His blue eyes flickered between the pair. "You must tread carefully, you know the laws, you must not be seen. Three turns should do it. If you succeed, more than one innocent life may be spared."

Both girls' eyes widened in the realization of what he was referencing, and then they had to scramble to hook the long golden chain of the Time-turner around both of their necks before disappearing as Hermione turned the tiny hourglass thrice.

Time travel had always been a funny thing to Hope, even after using the Time-turner to get to some of her classes all year, but it was remarkably much stranger when you were actually following your past self around.

The first thing that became apparent to them as they trailed after themselves, was that Buckbeak was that "more than one innocent life may be spared" part of Dumbledore's cryptic words.

"This is going to be impossible!" Hope bemoaned in a harsh whisper from where they were crouching behind a couple of relatively harmless-looking shrubs. "There's no way we're going to have enough time to get him out without our other selves seeing us or the Minister seeing us."

"We can do it," Hermione said resolutely ("What 'we'?" Hope grumbled, "I'm the one who's going to be doing everything.").

"In one minute?" Hope demanded incredulously before falling abruptly silent as Past-Hope, Ron, and Hermione left, and barely a few seconds after they had disappeared under the cloak, the Minister, the Executioner, and the Headmaster had appeared, striding down the lawn and into the cabin. She could only hope that Hagrid or Dumbledore would delay them a bit is she walked cautiously out of the foliage and into the sunlight.

Buckbeak saw her instantly and Hope couldn't help but be relieved that he only ruffled his feathers slightly upon seeing her. Taking a deep breath, and being very wary of the voices coming from the cabin, Hope bent forward, keeping her eyes on his orange ones. This time, Buckbeak bowed seconds after hers, much to her silent relief as she undid the rope that was keeping him to the fence, clicking her tongue the way that Hagrid had during the lesson (had it really been that long ago?). "Come on, Buckbeak, come on…"

Almost, reluctantly, Buckbeak followed, until they were well into the forest and Hope could allow herself to breathe properly.

"Like I said," she added, her heart still beating in her throat, "impossible."

Hermione cracked the first grin in probably hours. "Come on, we should go towards where the Whomping Willow is."

Unsurprising, a good bit of their night was spent in silence, waiting for their other selves to leave the willow, but it was very boring work, Hope had to admit. She probably would have given up entirely, if not for the fact that they were doing all of it for Sirius, to rescue him.

"What're you thinking about?" Hermione asked amidst a yawn.

"The Patronus," Hope admitted honestly. "The one that saved me, it was a raven."

"So?" she asked tiredly.

Hope's eyebrow twitched slightly in annoyance, but she couldn't really fault Hermione for not seeing what she saw. "So, Patronuses are special to each person and the raven is mine, so I'm going to have to assume that I saved myself from the Dementors…no matter how insane that sounds."

But Hermione had grown up since first year, and she was well used to Hope saying insane things that sometimes turned out to be true.

"We have to go," Hope said, standing up suddenly, and hoisting Hermione up, making her rub her eyes several times to get the fog to clear from them, "Professor Lupin's probably going to be running around here, and we need to get to the lake, come on!"

Hermione became more lucid after she tripped over the first root, for which Hope was grateful; it wasn't any fun to lug around a half-asleep girl.

"There!"

The Dementors were already amassed around the lake as well as Sirius and Past-Hope.

"Something happy, something happy," she murmured feverishly to herself.

Quinn's approving smile, sliding their glasses down to wink their one eye whenever Hope guessed something right during their lessons; Diane's glittering eyes and warm hug as she laughed, arms tight around Hope and Dean like she had no intention of letting go; Nath pressing a kiss to the top of her head, making her so many promises and keeping every one; Ron and Hermione's steadfast presence beside her even as she struggled; and George bringing up her hand to press against his mouth as she flushed.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

Hermione couldn't help but gasp at the power behind the spell as a graceful raven burst forth, sailing through the air to bat at the Dementors, forcing them back by the merest touch.

"Hope, _hide!"_

Snape was coming around the bend and Hope quickly ducked until he disappeared again with her and Sirius in tow. "How long do we have to sit here?" she hissed to Hermione who checked her watch.

"Thirty minutes."

And for Hope, those thirty minutes were a torturous hell, dragging on for ages, until Hermione said, "We should go now."

"Righty, then, come on."

Hope mounted Buckbeak without too much difficulty, but Hermione couldn't help but eye the hippogriff with a nervousness that was rarely present on her face. "Are you sure—?"

"Trust me," Hope said, rolling her eyes and holding out a hand to her, "it'll be fine."

But that didn't stop Hermione from screaming as they soared upwards and towards the castle, in search of that highest lone tower. "There!"

" _Bombarda!"_ Hermione cried, and the cell door blew open at the force of her spell, leaving Sirius staring wordlessly at the pair.

"What-how?"

"Later," Hope said, jerking a finger towards the back. "Get on." And he did wordlessly as they few down to the courtyard, allowing Hope and Hermione to dismount, leaving the reins to Sirius.

"You should go, you've probably got a minute or so of a head start," Hope said, fixing the reins in his grip, and glancing up when his hand tightened briefly over hers.

"How can I thank you?" he rasped.

Hope leaned forward and upward to kiss his wasted cheek with a smirk. "Don't get caught."

Another grin broke across his face. "You really are James' daughter, aren't you?"

 _"Go!"_ they both said, and this time, he listened.

* * *

Hope hadn't touched the manila envelope that Diane had given her had Christmas. She hadn't been ready to open it then; she'd had about ninety other things she had to worry about…but now she had the time.

She frowned at it, hard, before sighing and twisting it open.

There were a lot of documents inside. Papers upon papers and Hope knew what they were for. Her eyes narrowed at the carefully documented list of injuries and accounts from herself and the Dursleys. Hope had lost count how many times that happened; she'd stopped counting once she'd reached ten. Diane had always been annoyed that they got swept under the rug…but each and every injury had been explained away and signed by someone who had never gotten her side of the story.

Hope's eyes burned black at the name at the bottom of each page. Dr. A. Dumbledore.

Of course, of course it was him…there was always something that had put her ill at ease in a way she couldn't explain.

She shoved the papers back into the folder, tucking it under her arm as she headed down the stairs, making her way along the corridors before pausing outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts room to see a few boxes piled at the door.

Hope stepped inside to see the office as empty as it had been at the end of the previous year, with no hint of the man that had taught there for the past year.

"Ah, Hope," Professor Lupin spared her a smile, "it's good to see you up and about."

"You've not been sacked, have you?" Hope asked, horrified.

"No, no, nothing quite so dramatic," Professor Lupin huffed in the faintest of amusements, "I'm afraid I've resigned."

"Reisgned?" Hope asked aghast. "Why? You're the best DADA teacher we've had!"

"Yes, Dean was quite irate about it," Professor Lupin mused and Hope huffed.

"Yeah, because he's got good taste! Come on! I actually enjoyed your class!" Hope insisted. "Why are you leaving?"

Professor Lupin smiled thinly. "I'm afraid that Professor Snape let it slip at breakfast about my, uh, 'furry ailment', shall we say? This time tomorrow, the owls will start arriving from parents… They will not want a werewolf teaching their children, Hope. And after last night, I see their point. I could have bitten any of you… That must never happen again."

Hope could understand his worry, his fear, but she couldn't help but frown, even as he handed her the book she'd left in his room, opening the cover to show her the map inside. "I do wonder, though, how you managed to get your hands on this…we had it confiscated in one of our last days of seventh year."

She couldn't help but snort at that. "Fred and George gave it to me, but they nicked it from Filch in their first year."

"That does sound like them," Professor Lupin conceded with a smile. "I daresay that if your father was still alive, he would've been pleased to be a part of the next generation's troublemaking…after he got done glaring at George."

Hope looked away, holding the book to her chest. "Would my parents…would they have liked him?"

Professor Lupin's expression softened, recalling every moment he'd seen the pair together during the year. The number of times George had gladly carried Hope's bag to her first class -being late to his own-, especially after her nasty fall, walking hand in hand down the corridors, George pressing a light kiss to her cheek while she laughed…there was a softness there that James and Lily would've appreciated even if Sirius couldn't.

"I think they would've," he said finally. "Though I think James and Fred would've gotten on like a house fire."

Hope sniggered. "If we're not threatening to leave George and Angie then what's the point?" Angie found it exasperating and George rolled his eyes. "But you're really leaving?"

"I'm afraid so," Professor Lupin said. "But…I'd like to make up for…not coming forward when I did, when you were in the hospital…would you mind if I wrote to you?"

Hope considered him. "Nath won't like it, he doesn't like you."

"Ah," Professor Lupin murmured, remembering her saying that before and he faltered.

"You've got a lot to make up for, Moony," she said, eyes shifting to glittering black and looking so very eerie. "Sirius gets leeway since he was in prison. You've got to work from the ground up...if that's something you don't mind doing." She was appraising him and he knew what he said next would make or break the relationship he wanted to mend.

But Professor Lupin couldn't help the faint smile that curved his mouth. "You sound like him." It was always James' nature to hold others accountable for their actions; he was exceedingly good at holding grudges.

Her eyes gleamed. "Good," was all she said about it, tipping an imaginary hat. "I'm sure I'll be hearing for you, _Remus."_ She winked and he couldn't help but laugh.

There was a polite knock on the doorway and Hope's smile fell at the sight of Albus Dumbledore.

"Your carriage is at the gates, Remus," was all he said.

"Thank you, Headmaster." Remus stooped to pick up his bags. "Well –goodbye, Hope. It has been a real pleasure teaching you and my congratulations on your corporeal patronus, once again. We'll meet again, I'm sure…Headmaster, there is no need to see me to the gates, I can manage…"

He shook hands with Dumbledore and then he was gone, leaving Hope alone with the Headmaster. Fire was burning under her skin with no chance of burning out.

"Why so angry, Hope?" Dumbledore asked calmly, like he didn't know.

Hope scoffed loudly, slamming her book down loudly to rip the papers out of her folder. "'Why so angry?', well let's see if this sounds familiar…'it is my belief that Hope Potter actually tripped down the stairs as her guardians claim and that when she hit her head, it confused her, making her believe that she had been pushed'….or how about this? 'Hope Potter's bruises match the description of the game she was reportedly playing with her cousin, per her aunt, no need to follow up'."

Hope's eyes were hard and cold. "I remember both those incidents. They were _not_ accidents, I can assure you."

Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh, closing the door to give them a semblance of privacy.

"It was your fault, every time, _every_ single time I spoke up, _every_ time there was an investigation, _you_ got it thrown it." Hope had never been so incensed. "Do you even remember? Because I do, I remember every hit and punch and every time my bones broke…and _you_ made it all _go away_ for them. You threw me in a cage and you locked the door and I would like you to _explain."_

Hope had learned never to scream, but Quinn was the one that taught her to rein in her temper as much as possible, because shouting yourself hoarse might make you feel better in the moment, but it wouldn't get you the answers you wanted.

But neither Diane nor Quinn liked Dumbledore much, anyways. They had thought he was far too interfering and should just stick to his job description, which Hope hadn't thought much of, but now she had to firmly agree with them.

"There are things that you need to understand about that…things I _will_ explain," Dumbledore said patiently. "But not today. You aren't ready to understand."

 _Ready to understand?_ Hope wanted to scream. _Ready to understand what reason he could possibly have to keep her trapped in that house?_

There was no _possible_ reason for that.

Hope kept her temper in check, sliding Quinn's gifted green-lensed sunglasses out of her pocket and settling them on her nose, hiding her furious eyes from view.

"You'll regret that," Hope said with certainty, "and you'll fall from great heights."

The door burst open without her even touching it and she strode out of it, leaving Dumbledore to sigh heavily. That quiet anger had been all James, but at the same time, something darker and far more malevolent was brewing underneath…

* * *

Hagrid had given Hope Sirius' bike quite easily, but Hope had had to wait until she made it back to London for Diane to show her how to use it, because, evidently being able to flit through worlds made Quinn absolutely ignorant to driving a vehicle of any kind, and Diane, at least, didn't want Hope's insides to end up on her outsides and be scraped up on the road by trying to learn how to do it herself.

She called it the lesser of two evils.

Quinn called it stealing their protégé.

Diane had retorted "You're the one with cloaking tattoos on your fingers that she decided to drag Dean to a tattoo parlor to get."

Quinn hadn't even bothered to look sheepish about that. Dean had been exasperated when Hope had dragged her with him without telling him what it was for. It had hurt, a lot, but Hope was a determined rebel and had aged up her appearance enough for no one to question it.

So, when Diane deemed her safe enough to drive, Quinn gave Hope an ID with a picture that they'd taken of her, aged up to twenty-three, hair short and bronze, looking more like Nath, and they'd all waved her off, face bright and beaming.

"What're the chances she accidentally wanders into the entrance exam at Brakebills?" Diane mused, leaning back into Quinn's arms.

"I'm not taking that bet," Quinn retorted, miffed. "If she fails, I'll be incredibly disappointed."

* * *

Hope had swung by the Feywild Café -throwing the door open with a "S! I'm running off for a few months!" to which Sylvar said "Hell, yeah!"- to load up on quality food before taking to the streets.

It was hours upon hours later when Hope passed the passport to the man.

"Marina Thomas?" he queried and Hope nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Welcome to Athens, Miss Thomas."

And Hope grinned widely, revving up the motorbike and speeding on into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brakebills will actually show up in book 4, which I'm looking forward to but mostly it'll remain in the periphery for most of the series.
> 
> There were a lot of changes this book and there will continue to be a lot of changes. Hope being a knife-wielding maniac having to refrain from losing her temper for various reasons -that will one day be revealed- is what I'm here for.
> 
> George is turning into more of a dork that Hope's got wrapped around her finger than he was before.
> 
> And Hope literally fucking off during the summer is honestly a goddamn mood
> 
> The 'other' Dark Lord is something darker and more sinister than Voldy, but it'll be awhile before you actually see much about him -he's a sequel issue.


	4. Year Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are slowly going to see more and more of the Magicians mythos creeping into this fic and I couldn't be more excited. In other news…Kingsley is kind of overtaking Remus' role from LB, and I'm really into it. This chapter took longer than anticipated because of the sheer number of edits lol

Dumbledore was growing increasingly concerned with Hope Potter. When she'd entered the wizarding world scarred and bent, he had thought she'd be more malleable, more grateful to the people who removed her from the Dursleys, more loyal, and her being sorted into Gryffindor had proved she valued the good and brave over the bad and cunning. But she was not what he'd hoped for.

He only prayed that she didn't jeopardize the efforts he'd made to drown out the dark.

* * *

Hope lodged a foot into a crevice along the perilous cliff face that she still didn't regret climbing. Nath had always said she was every bit the wild child that she appeared to be, he liked to say she'd probably been born in the wild, which Hope had always rolled her eyes at, but here she was, climbing almost at a vertical angle and not regretting it in the slightest.

It gave her the best view of the Gorge of the Dead. Hope's fingers caught on the ledge and her muscles burned as she pulled herself up over it with a grunt to pull out her camera and snap a picture with a mutter of "Hermione's going to kill me for this", grinning as she did so. Then she snapped a picture of her feet dangling over the edge, which was definitely going to give Hermione a heart attack.

She allowed herself to enjoy the view for a few moments longer before tucking the camera away and climbing carefully back down until she landed on her two feet, making her way back to her motorcycle.

Being in Greece was like finally learning to breathe fresh air. Hogwarts was saturated with magic, but it was always like…too much perfume in a closed space. Greece was like smelling a bouquet; present but not overpowering.

The first day Hope set foot in Thalatta -the home that had once belonged to the Marinos family- she never wanted to leave, well, that's not accurate. When she set foot in Greece, she never wanted to leave.

There's something about it that she couldn't quite describe…like coming home and being free all at the same time. It was hard to explain.

But the place was beautiful and breathtaking and Hope didn't want to even leave. She wanted to spend an eternity on the shore of Kato Zakros and never go back to dreary Britain.

"Is that normal?" she asked Nath over the phone. "Feeling like that?"

 _"Maybe you've fallen in love with Greece?"_ Nath laughed on the other end. _"I can't blame you; its utterly beautiful."_

And it really was.

 _"Might be a good place to move to when you're done with school,"_ Nath added lightly, _"get away to somewhere…peaceful."_

Hope smiled. "You think I need peace, Nath?" Personally, Hope had always thought she thrived in chaos, which was why she found it so odd that she didn't struggle with the quiet patience needed for learning psychic magic.

 _"I always think you need peace,"_ Nath sighed heavily and Hope's smile faltered.

"I'm okay," she assured him carefully in the voice that he had only known for a year. He'd been furious to hear about the attack, and even more to hear how it had damaged her…but nothing was safe, especially not for Hope. "I promise, Nath, I am…I'm eating Greek cuisine, I'm watching the stars, I'm hiking, I'm swimming after dark…I'm having fun and I'm being safe."

 _"Two of my favorite things_ ," Nath joked, but it was weak.

Hope's smile gained a bit more life. "Careful, _Dad,_ your heart is showing." She smirked as he sputtered on the other end.

_"Oh, shut up, I am not old enough to have a teenage daughter!"_

"What was that about you being older than you looked?" Hope sniggered. Like he hadn't once said he'd adopt her in a heartbeat. Him and Diane both. It made her stomach explode with butterflies.

 _"Whatever,"_ Nath huffed and Hope could hear voices in the background. _"Dearest, I have to go, but I'll talk to you later."_

"Bye!" Hope said quickly, shutting the phone and flopping back into her beach chair, looking out to the rich blue sea. It was absolute paradise. She couldn't imagine how Diane could just pack up her life and restart it in Britain when she'd had all this while she was in school.

But she'd been pregnant with Dean and scared and trying to get as far from magic as possible, so Hope supposed that made sense.

Thalatta was truly breathtaking and it was less of an estate, or even a manor, and more of a family compound. There were guest houses with a large main house at the center. It was incredibly nice, hewn with stone, rustic despite the size, and clearly the Marinos family had been well off even before Morea had married into the Slytherin family, but there was no way that no one hadn't touched the place in centuries…someone had updated the place.

There was an outside area covered by a canopy where a long table and chairs sat, untouched with assortments of poufy couches and chairs that Hope had a tendency to fall asleep in, rarely willing to drag herself inside when she could drag a blanket over her and fall asleep in the warm air with the night sky above her.

It was a nice paradise but it was going to make going back to Britain -or Wales, whichever came first- even harder.

Hope slid her green-lensed glasses into place on her nose, packing a few books into her bag before making her way back up to stone steps, taking her motorbike keys and heading out again. She'd been traveling mostly by foot, because that was what she preferred, but it wouldn't hurt to go somewhere new, see some sights.

She parked the motorbike, dropping her keys into her bag before pausing, looking down into the bag in surprise.

There was a manila envelope that she definitely hadn't put there. She pulled it out, furrowing her brow at the name written in bold gothic letters.

_H. Marina Peverell_

Hope stared at the name for the longest time…Peverell sounded vaguely familiar, she thought she must've read it somewhere, like on an old family tree of her father's.

She broke the seal and opened it, pulling out the single piece of paper from within that read 'Congratulations!' with an arrow pointing to the left.

"Huh?" Hope muttered when she was hit with a sudden gust of wind that ripped the paper from her grasp. " _Hey—!"_

She reached for it but it fluttered out of reach and Hope had to hop off the motorbike quickly to chase after it. It fluttered down the street and into a building, and Hope really hoped that there wasn't anyone to look at her too oddly as she chased it all the way into an elevator that shut behind her.

Hope caught it against the wall with a muffled complaint before sticking it back into her bag and turning around quickly when the elevator gave a sudden ding, the doors sliding open.

They had opened into clear and bright light, but that was Greece for you and Hope stepped out of it cautiously, looking around, but there was no one there, just a sign with an arrow pointing forward 'to exam'.

Hope frowned in absolute confusion. She was pretty sure that she'd run into a small-time publishing house that had only two floors…but here she was in a glass-paned hallway with an arrow to an exam…

Well, what was the harm in following the arrows?

Hope shouldered her bag, taking several steps forward before curving around the corner to see a woman that Hope couldn't help but think of as a pixie. She had short, bouncing curls, bright eyes, and was short herself with a pearly smile. "Hello, here for the exam?"

"Um, I guess so?" Hope gave a helpless shrug, but apparently the woman was used to that.

"Right through the doors," was all she said and Hope pushed through carefully.

There weren't a huge number of people, but there were certainly more than an average class at Hogwarts, though not by much.

"Be seated," said the man at the front and Hope had to search quickly for an empty chair, dropping her bag beside her. The man who had spoken was an imposing figure. He was tall with dark skin and dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit. Well, he certainly had style, Hope had to give him that. And behind him was a banner bearing the name 'Brakebills University' with a bee over a key.

Hope tried hard not to gape…but that meant this was the school that Quinn and Diane had gone to, the one that Quinn still _taught_ at…and Hope was _definitely_ entirely _too young_ to be there.

"Welcome. You may address me as Dean," the man at the front said. "I know you have questions. They will be answered in time. Now, your only job is to pass the examination before you."

Hope looked down at the little blue booklet, still feeling uncommonly like she'd walked into the wrong room at the very wrong time. She tried to raise her hand but the Dean shook a finger. "Absolutely no questions."

Hope lowered it, feeling unbelievably flummoxed as he upended the hourglass on the front desk. "Begin."

So, she picked up the pencil and opened the booklet.

They were the kind of math problems that Quinn liked to give Hope for fun…like arithmancy but dialed up to eleven. So, she went to work, unaware that she was being watched with interest.

It was true that everyone in the room that the potential to be great magicians and some of them were distinctly non-human, but Brakebills wasn't nearly as selective as some schools…and there was one prospective student in particular that piqued Dean Fogg's interest.

Professor Lipson approached him. "Hey, you might want to look at this."

Dean Fogg took the clipboard from her to see what she was talking about. Next to the name 'H. Marina Peverell' wasn't a series of check marks for each correct answer…there were plus ones instead.

"She's getting extra credit on every question…questions that weren't even _designed_ to have extra credit," Professor Lipson whispered so as not to disturb those still taking the exam. "Whoever she is…she's got a _gift."_

"Hm," Dean Fogg hummed, pulling out a thick lens. "She's the one that wanted to ask a question at the start, right?" Professor Lipson nodded and he fixed it on her, only briefly, because the second he did so, it cracked the lens.

Professor Lipson stared. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Dean Fogg decided. "Let's just see how she does on the practical exam."

And twenty-five minutes later she set off the fire alarm with a minor explosion.

* * *

"You know that magic is real, don't you, Miss Peverell?" Dean Fogg was just as imposing sitting behind his desk as he had been at the front of the classroom. "After all, those are cloaking sigils tattooed on your fingers."

Hope covered them -a bit uselessly- with the fingers from her opposite hand, which didn't hide them in the slightest. "I have someone who likes interfering with my life, that's all," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone.

"Don't we all?" Dean Fogg mused. "But let's talk about this first." His fingers fluttered and there was an ID in his hand. "Marina Thomas…pretty well done, but I think we both know it's a fake."

"Hey!" Hope snatched it back. "My mentor made that for me!"

Dean Fogg arched an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you're not twenty-four as your fake ID claims."

"Almost fourteen," Hope grumbled.

"Really?" the Dean seemed surprised by that. "Impressive glamour."

Hope pinked at the compliment, but it was one she could easily breeze by being a metamorphmagus. She'd even shifted her facial scars to the palm of her left hand to make herself less recognizable.

"I can't recall a time when anyone younger than nineteen passed our entrance exam…what's your mentor's name?"

"Quinn Adiyodi," Hope said and Dean Fogg actually laughed.

"Are they really?" he asked delighted. "They were one of my favorite students and are a _phenomenal_ professor…did they know you were taking the exam?"

Hope shrugged helplessly. "I wasn't really planning on it, I've got a family house nearby that I've been staying at…I didn't really have a reason to leave it, unless I was getting food from the local market…but somehow I ended up here." Hope looked out of the window in vague interest. "Are all the students Greek?"

"Oh, heavens no," Dean Fogg was quick to wave that off. "We're not nearly as selective as other schools are…our students are from all over the world, anyone with potential." He waved his hand behind him to a vast array of globes, endlessly turning with tiny lights glowing all over them. "Sense magic is how we find prospective magicians, of course, it's not always right, so we test it."

"With a difficult entrance exam?" Hope asked archly.

Dean Fogg smirked. "But you didn't find it difficult, did you?"

Hope crossed her arms, refusing to answer.

"You got extra credit on nearly every problem despite them not being designed for extra credit…that takes a lot of skill."

"Thanks," Hope said, not really sure what to do with that compliment. People tended to attribute her smarts to her parents; it threw her off when people just attributed them to her.

"So, Brakebills University of Magical Pedogogy has a three-year program, graduate level studies. I'm sure you know that it is one thing to know of magic, but it is another thing to be a magician. We are nothing like Hogwarts, we exist for one purpose: to reveal your innate magical abilities and hone them to the highest degree. You will not always have the same classes as your peers after your discipline is chosen, because we believe in helping you become the best that you can possibly be…of course you're a unique case."

"Unique case?" Hope asked, taking the paper that she would need to sign to agree to go to school there. "How's that?"

"Well, you're half-trained and currently at Hogwarts, and while we do get Hogwarts graduates from time to time, they _are_ graduates."

Hope couldn't really blame him there.

"But you have enough promise that we'd consider some summer classes until you actually graduate."

She furrowed her brow at him. "That sounds like something you don't usually do."

"Rarely," Dean Fogg agreed, "but occasionally…for _promising_ individuals. After all, Quinn Adiyodi wouldn't choose just anyone to be their student; they would have to have promise and power, both of which you possess."

Hope had never felt so honestly flattered and completely thrown off.

And when she signed her name, she signed it as ' _Marina Thomas'_ , and Dean Fogg didn't comment.

She held everything in until she left.

"Diane, I'm freaking out," Hope hissed into the phone immediately after leaving the Dean's room. "What if they made a mistake? What if—"

 _"They didn't make a mistake, sweetheart, I promise, they're good at figuring out who's good enough to be accepted,"_ Diane assured her. " _What's really bothering you?"_

Hope tapped her left leg insistently, rubbing her fingers into her thigh where the scars were under her pants. "I'm just…what if I'm changing too much? No one else at Hogwarts is ever going to…what if I'm too different from all them?"

_"Honey, we're all different and your friends love you, George loves you, despite how different and strange you are…not everyone is well-suited for wand magic anyways, and you certainly aren't. Embrace your differences and shine!"_

"You're an adult, you're so sure of everything because you've lived through it," Hope grumbled.

_"I have, but I also know that you have a gift, and you should be in an environment where you can thrive…what classes are they letting you take?"_

"Immersion Greek and Sing Language I, which I don't totally get—"

 _"Oh, sign language is taught before you learn poppers to do spells,"_ Diane laughed. _"That's the best way to loosen your hands up…and you learn how to insult your instructors without saying any words, which is always great fun."_

Hope laughed. "If you say so."

_"Have fun, sweetheart."_

"I'll try," Hope promised.

* * *

Brakebills was astonishing and absolutely nothing like Hogwarts. Hogwarts had a romantic appeal in appearance alone; Brakebills didn't need that. Brakebills had everything you needed if you wanted to succeed and it was everything Quinn had said it would be.

The Disciplines were something, though. She'd known that Quinn had been a Psychic student and Diane a Physical student, but learning about them all and watching students performing different kinds of magic that would've been frowned upon, if not banned, in the UK, was something thrilling.

"Disciplines are incredibly personal to each magician," Quinn explained to her out in the courtyard one day after they were done teaching their class and Hope's was out for the day. "You can't just pick a discipline and go with it."

"You're teaching me psychic magic and that's your discipline," Hope pointed out. _And it wasn't Hope's_ went unsaid but not unheard.

"Yes, but anyone can learn any type of magic," Quinn rolled their single eye over their glasses. "If you've got enough drive, which you do…besides, it was psychic or nothing and you needed that, you still do."

Hope huffed.

"But my _point_ is, is that there are a lot of things that affect which Discipline you get into…the Circumstances, have you learned about that? Did I tell you about Circumstances?"

Hope wondered if Quinn felt so scattered sometimes teaching Hope because they confused what they taught Hope with what they taught Victoria. They hadn't taught Hope that, but Hope had read ahead; the library was very enticing.

"Major, Minor, Tertiary, and Quaternary are the classifications," Hope counted them out on her fingers. "Mostly we stick to Tertiary: altitude, age, position of the Pleiades, phase of the moon, and nearest body of water."

"Good," Quinn nodded approvingly. "Well, Disciplines are determined by the circumstances surrounding the birth of the magician."

Hope frowned. "So, would Dean and I have the same Discipline since we were born on the same day? If he ended up coming here?"

She'd imagined the grimace that had flashed across Quinn's face. "Not necessarily."

There were several disciplines: physical, psychic, illusion, knowledge, natural, and healing. Hope thought they all sounded pretty interesting, but she'd seen some kids messing with mirrors outside the Illusionist Castle and it had given her some ideas.

"Want to guess which one you end up in?" Quinn grinned.

"I think I'll like the surprise," Hope snorted. "Say hi to Dean and Diane for me!" and then she was darting off to the library, leaving Quinn to shake her head fondly.

The library might not've had as many books as the one in Pithos, but it had a wealth of subjects and complete records of magical newspapers, something not even the Hogwarts Library possessed, so Hope grabbed about a dozen from the months surrounding October 31, 1981 and settled in for a long read.

There were a lot of articles going on about her heroism and her parents' sacrifice that made Hope roll her eyes in annoyance then she found what she was looking for.

_Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Sr., after the senseless murder of Lily and James Potter and the subsequent attack on Hope Potter by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and revelation of evidence provided by Supreme Mugwump, Albus Dumbledore, has reached the decision to send Sirius Black, spy for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to Azkaban sans trial for the death of twelve Muggles and wizard Peter Pettigrew as well as being an accessory in the murder of James and Lily Potter._

Hope read the line ' _evidence provided by Supreme Mugwump, Albus Dumbledore'_ several times trying not to become irrationally enraged, but it was difficult work.

Finding out a few papers later that Crouch gave his son and the Lestranges a trial for the use of the Cruciatus on the Longbottoms was just a nail in the coffin.

* * *

 _"I cannot believe that you got into a graduate program without even graduating Hogwarts!"_ Hope had set the phone in the kitchen on speaker while she worked on the ingredients for what Nath assured her was the perfect moussaka, a traditional Greek food that Hope had heard a lot of good things about and was definitely likely to screw up, but if there was one thing Sylvar had taught her, it was that good food was worth the effort.

"I know, it's totally crazy!" Hope laughed, chopping two red onions and trying not to cry. "But the two classes they put me in this summer aren't specifically magic-based. It's just Sign Language I and Immersion Greek."

 _"How's Immersion Greek different from actual Greek?"_ Hermione asked befuddled.

"No idea," Hope replied, "I think it has something to do with how it's used in spells, though…oh, look, George is calling!"

 _"Ugh, you two are too cute that I honestly don't know how you function,"_ Hermione complained but Hope positively beamed, ending the call and then opening the mirror to say "Hey, baby!"

She could hear Fred cackling in the background and George cast his twin a glower. _"Hey, how's vacation? Are you in Wales?"_

"Not yet," Hope shrugged. "I'll get there eventually. But you've gotta see this, Georgie—"

And then she was running out of the house to aim the mirror out at the sea.

"Wow! You get to see that every day?" George asked as she turned it back so all he could see was her beaming face as she walked back inside.

"Oh, yeah!" Hope beamed. "And also, I've told people that you're my husband."

George choked, face burning red while Fred positively howled. "You-You're thirteen!" he sputtered.

Hope laughed. "Yeah, well, people here think I'm twenty-four, and men are pigs so…imposing husband."

 _"Imposing?"_ Fred wasn't going to survive. "Hope, I miss you so much, sweet Merlin, _imposing—!"_

George threw another scowl his way. "I can be imposing!"

"You really can't be," Hope and Fred said as one and George positively deflated.

"You guys are the _absolute_ worst."

* * *

Hope was brilliant, maybe she'd always been brilliant, just only recently had she begun to fully realize just how much, without Snape to berate her or McGonagall to tell her how things must be done. Not with wand-magic, never with wand-magic, but Hope didn't mind that.

But it wasn't arrogance that had led Hope forward into her terrible predicament, it was curiosity, and even failure was a good teacher.

Still, Hope knew when she fucked up really bad. Quinn had told her to only read ahead so far in Amelia Popper's _Practical Exercises for Young Magicians_. "There's a reason we teach sign language before actual poppers," they told Hope seriously, "because your hands need to be loose enough to perform the intricate movements in that book to use magic."

But Hope had wanted to see if Letum Ultima would actually work, and it had, to a point. And then she'd ended up vomiting her weight in blood onto the floor. Only downing the blood replenishers on hand had kept her from actually dying. And normally, if Hope screwed up a spell, she just kept it her herself, but this time she felt like she was recovering too slowly that a visit to the infirmary was the only option.

"What kind of spell were you attempting?" Professor Lipson asked, scrutinizing her through three lenses. "Because _wow_ is your magic out of whack."

" _Great,"_ Hope said dryly.

"What I want to know is what forbidden rituals you were put through almost fourteen years ago, because it really screwed you over."

Hope remembered Quinn saying there was a patch on Hope's memory when she was a newborn -though why bother, Quinn had rolled their eye, it wasn't like babies formed memories right after being born. "How badly am I screwed over?"

"Well, obviously you're a Cage, not a Wellspring…Cages have a limited amount of magic to draw on and when they use it up, they have to wait for it to recharge," Professor Lipson explained.

"So, Cages are batteries and Wellsprings have endless supply?" Hope asked.

"Pretty much." Professor Lipson shrugged. "Honestly, Cages rarely become master magicians and most rarely use magic in their daily lives, which is especially unfortunate given how skilled you are."

"Oh." Hope sagged, disheartened.

"Someone really wanted to fuck with your magic, huh? Who'd you piss off at ten?" Professor Lipson wondered aloud and Hope paused with a frown.

"What d'you mean?" she asked, confused. "I thought that no one can make you a Cage or a Wellspring; aren't you born that way? That's what Quinn said."

"They're right, but Quinn's skill is more psychic in nature, it's not surprising that they missed this." Professor Lipson held up her hands quickly when Hope opened her mouth, irritated. "Look, it's an easy thing to miss if you aren't looking for it. But your body wasn't born with a drop of magic within it."

 _"Huh?"_ Hope gaped.

"Do you have any idea how much effort you have to go through to force a magical core into a body that has no need for it?" Professor Lipson asked rhetorically and Hope couldn't wrap her mind around it.

"But-but I thought no one made me a Cage, I thought you were just born that way, that's what Quinn said!" Hope insisted, cycling back to what she knew and Professor Lipson grimaced.

"That is true," she admitted, "for the most part. It's been done before, but it's a forbidden kind of magic."

"I thought no magic was forbidden," Hope's eyes were wide. For magicians, anyways.

"Usually," Professor Lipson agreed, "but forcing a magical core into a body that's adapted to life without it is usually a power play. You only have access to so much magic. It was used as a way to…corral enemies, offering only scraps and making them dependent on them and the Caster…I'd say in your case someone wants you to play a very specific part, one that requires you to have magic."

Hope frowned deeply. Dumbledore had moved her around on a chessboard only he could see…but he didn't strike her as the kind of person that would use some forbidden magic to get his way…it had to be someone else.

"As it is, your magic is like an infection, its spread through your whole body, and using too much will kill you, I promise," Professor Lipson said seriously. "Removing it is beyond any power I possess…so I would take care about how much magic you use in the future."

Hope looked down at the veins in her arms, more black than blue. "Right," she muttered. "Does it have to do with the patch on my memory?"

Professor Lipson tilted her head. "Well, they were placed at the same time," she said, "but they're separate entities, they don't rely on each other."

Hope clenched her fists tight once and released them.

"I would say that someone wants you to have magic, but as little as possible, knowing that removing it would kill you…not someone I'd like to know, personally."

Hope thought about Voldemort and sighed. "You're not wrong."

There was a loud throat clearing and Hope flinched, seeing Quinn leaning against the partition, their expression thunderous, even with the sunglasses. Hope swallowed thickly and tried to make herself smaller. "Oh, I'm so _fucked."_

Quinn removed the yellow-lensed glasses and glared with their single eye. "Yes, you are. Ellie, will you excuse us?"

"Of course," Professor Lipson said quickly, eyes flicking between them. "Just go easy on her? She's had a bit of a day."

Quinn grunted, waiting until she'd gone before crossing their arms and saying "What did I tell you about how dangerous magic can be?"

"I knew it would be dangerous!" Hope sulked. "I was testing out a new spell, and obviously it didn't work the way I wanted, but—"

"No _buts!"_ Quinn snapped. "You _knew_ that spell required power you didn't have for it to work, you were just _too—"_

"I didn't know how—" Hope searched for the word briefly. "— _handicapped_ I was and if I had I wouldn't have tried it!"

"Yes, you would've," Quinn sighed, the fight going out of them as they came closer, taking Hope's hands in theirs. "That's just—Marina, listen, I know you're a very curious person, and I am so _glad_ that you found something that you excel in and meta-composition is a _very_ specialized field and you are _very_ gifted…but you know it's dangerous too."

Quinn had knelt down so Hope could see their eye and the empty hole where the other had been. Quinn had never said what had happened to their eye; Hope wondered if the reason had to do with creating spells.

"I know," Hope said, blinking furiously. "I just wanted to see if it would work."

"No, you wanted to see if _it would kill you."_

Hope flinched. "I'm not suicidal, I'm on my meds."

"Look at me," Quinn was patient and direct and Hope met their eyes again. "You've always had a morbid curiosity with death and something tells me it's a family trait—"

Hope frowned at that with a bit of confusion, opening her mouth to ask but Quinn was still talking.

"And you think I can't tell when your depression rears its head?" Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Your aura has never been a muddier shade of pink."

"Pink?" Hope snorted. "My aura being pink means I'm depressed?"

Quinn's expression was unimpressed. They were a Psychic, of course, they put more emphasis on things Hope didn't always and one of those things was auras. "Pink auras usually indicate growing compassion and kindness, but your pink is muddy, and that means emotional imbalance, someone who gives too much and sacrifices their needs."

The fight left Hope. "Oh," she said dully.

"I'm worried about you…I think you're at the precipice of something, something that lead you to new heights or one that can drag you down to the depths that you are halfway towards." Their hands were warm on Hope's cheeks.

Hope had dreamed a lot of a forest with darkness at every turn, with the Blood-Soaked Tree in the center. "What if the best place to see is in the darkness? What if the light drowns out everything in sight?"

Quinn's expression softened. "Then trust your judgement."

"But you don't."

"I don't trust your curiosity," Quinn sighed, "that's the part that gets you into so much trouble. That's the part that thinks as long as the spell works, then it's worth nearly dying."

"Fred and George test new spells out on themselves all the time!" Hope insisted sourly.

"Fred and George create spells for the intention of bringing fun and joy into the world," Quinn replied dryly. They knew enough about Fred and George's plans and how Mrs. Weasley didn't approve of them, which was enough to convince them.

"And I don't?" Hope knew she didn't, she was just arguing for the sake of arguing.

"You create spells to push magic _as far as it will go_ ," Quinn rested a hand on their hip. "You know it's not the same. You're brilliant, but what you really need is an off-switch."

Hope thought about Professor Lipson talking about her magic like it was an infection. "Yeah, no kidding," she muttered.

"Obviously, magic is different for you, especially with what Ellie was saying about forced magical implantation," Quinn grimaced. "God, that's so _disgusting_ to think about let alone experience…it just means you'll have to be careful about how much magic you use."

Hope couldn't help but feel bitter, knowing that no one in Hogwarts ever had this issue.

"Everything is good in moderation, even magic," Quinn promised.

Hope pursed her lips. But she couldn't disagree. "Okay," she sighed, "I'll be more careful."

"See that you do," Quinn said tiredly. "How did your exams go?"

"I passed," Hope laughed. "I'm still trying to figure out my classes for next summer. I'm thinking Introduction Casting, Applied Potions, and Complex Communications."

"Ready for a challenge?" Quinn laughed and Hope beamed. Quinn dropped a kiss to the top of Hope's head like Nath always did and Hope's heart ached suddenly. "Get some rest, please. You're still looking pale."

Quinn rarely said 'please'.

"I'll try," Hope said, watching them leave with a heavy sigh.

But Hope had never been very good at getting a good amount of sleep.

* * *

Honestly, Hope probably should've waited a little longer, it was barely daybreak and Hope had slept fitfully until the Tree threatened to induce a panic attack. What Hope really needed was some advice, but she didn't want to ask Quinn.

She needed advice from an unbiased source.

Which was how she found herself outside of Dean Henry Fogg's place, knocking politely.

When the door opened, it wasn't Dean Fogg on the other side, but a very familiar man with dark skin with a single golden hoop earring in one ear.

"Miss Potter," the man said in surprise, "what can I do for you?"

Hope's mouth twisted, like how she felt when people called her the Girl-Who-Lived and she had to correct them to "Hope, just Hope". She'd forgotten to shift the scar to her hand when she'd left, so it was only her fault that she'd been recognized. "Mari," she corrected this time and the man gave her an apologetic smile.

"Mari," he corrected, "what can I do for you?"

"Um, well…aren't you that Auror guy that questioned me at the start of the year?" Hope asked with a furrowed brow. It had been a difficult time and Hope didn't remember most of what she said, just that she hadn't said anything about the Giant Squid eating Rookwood, which, frankly, was still pretty startling.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he smiled, offering her a hand and Hope shook it once. "I surprised you remember me…you were pretty…"

"Scattered?" Hope offered helpfully. "Delirious? All over the place?"

 _"Traumatized_ ," Kingsley said instead and Hope scoffed.

"You think that was the first time someone tried to kill me?" _You think that was the first time I killed someone?_

The silence was unbelievably awkward.

"Are you here to see my husband?" Kingsley asked.

Hope blinked for a moment before realizing that he was wearing a golden ring that matched Dean Fogg's. " _You're_ Dean Fogg's husband?" Her eyebrows rose high before flushing in embarrassment. "Wait, that came out so wrong, _he's_ just so…and _you're_ so…I'm just digging myself into a hole, aren't I?"

Kingsley laughed. "Would you like some tea, Mari?"

"Tea would be great," Hope sighed, a hand against her brow, her scar aching.

Ten minutes later Hope was sitting next to him on bench behind the house with a cup of tea in her hand that she wasn't drinking.

"I give better advice than Henry," Kingsley promised, "what's on your mind?"

Hope looked down at her hands, at the runes tattooed on her knuckles that Dean had sketched to perfection when she'd dragged him with her to the tattoo parlor. "I screwed up a spell," she admitted, "and it almost killed me…and that was when Lipson told me that I wasn't born with magic."

If Kingsley was incredibly surprised, he didn't show it. "I can understand how that could be quite a shock."

"Do you have any idea what it's like?" Hope exploded suddenly. "To be treated like shit by people you're related to because your parents had magic? To struggle through years of wand magic where it takes me five times as long to get things to work? Only to find out that you shouldn't even be in school in the first place? And then you start thinking: well, maybe I shouldn't've even been allowed into Hogwarts to begin with! But if I wasn't in Hogwarts, I'd probably be dead and no one would've cared, because I was just little orphan Potter who's so _unnatural_! I'd never have met Ron or Hermione or Dean or George or Fred…or Diane or Quinn…just Nath."

The fire extinguished just as quickly as it had burned bright and she sagged. "I'm just a piece on a chess board…so many people tried to get me removed from the Dursleys and Dumbledore blocked them all and my godfather was sent to prison for a crime he didn't commit, and…and I'm just lost in the forest and I don't know what to _do."_

Kingsley didn't say anything for the longest time. "Did you know that magic in its most natural form required no wand or staff?" he asked her instead.

Hope lifted her head.

He smiled, nodding to the scarred runes on her wrists and palms. "Blood Magick is a very old, very specific kind of magic, not the kind of thing just anyone would get into…its very old, very powerful, and very _dangerous_. It, along with a lot of other wandless magic fell out of favor back in the early tenth century, supposedly spurred by Merlin's emphasis on magic conducted through a separate medium."

Hope scowled. "Wasn't Merlin alive around the time Salazar Slytherin was? His wife Morea Marinos was a powerful magician. No way would she have used a wand because using your hands fell out of favor."

"Maybe not, but it didn't save her…it's probably what drove him to start using a wand in the first place." Kingsley shrugged and Hope scrutinized him.

"You know a lot about history."

He laughed. "Henry's always trying to get me to resign from the force, enjoy the quiet life here with him, be a teacher of history at Brakebills…'history nut' he likes to call me."

"Hm." That was actually pretty cute. "My boyfriend's a potions maniac."

"There's always one," Kingsley agrees sagely. "But what I'm saying is…inspiration can be found in a multitude of sources. Just because you use your magic in a different way than your peers doesn't make you less…and it's not your fault that someone decided to give you magic when you didn't need it."

"But I still feel like a fraud," Hope insisted.

"You're not to first person to have a magical core inserted into your body, I suspect that's a natural feeling…have you ever been comfortable in your skin?"

Hope tried to think. Honestly, she'd always thought it was growing up in an abusive environment. "Probably not," she sighed.

"You're not a fraud," Kingsley assured her. "Henry raves enough about your brilliance and if you were a fraud, he wouldn't bother."

Hope turned pink.

"And I think you understand consequences better than most people…but your life shouldn't be weighed against magical advancement. You matter more than any spell you could create. You're worth more than what you can give to other people."

He and Quinn were apparently on the same page. Somehow, she didn't think Dumbledore would agree…but why did she give a fuck if he would agree? The bastard was an architect in the destruction of her life, why did she care what he wanted?

She didn't.

"Okay," she said finally, feeling lighter, before narrowing her eyes at him. "Maybe you should be a therapist instead, Kingsley."

"Henry's said that too," Kingsley laughed and Hope drained her cup. "Now, I hope you have everything you need, because unfortunately I have to get to the office."

"Oh, yeah," Hope checked her watch. It was almost time for her last seminar before she headed up to Wales. "Yes, thank you, for the tea, and, you know, the advice…it helped me."

"I'm glad," Kingsley smiled. "Enjoy the rest of your holiday, Mari."

Hope tipped an imaginary hat as she stood.

* * *

 _This is the absolute worst seminar you could've signed me up for_ , Hope texted furiously to Quinn.

Honestly, she really didn't give a fuck, _literally._ She was thirteen, why did she honestly care about inter-Magician relations or sex education?

But it was a requirement for all new students and, even more unfortunately, it was taught by the Dean. It was like being taught sex ed by Dumbledore, but slightly less appalling. Still, she wrote down everything on the board, trying to keep everyone from seeing how red her face was.

_Do's and Don'ts of magical intercourse_

_1._ _Avoid rapid finger movements_

 _2._ _If an enlargement spell lasts longer than 4 hours -call a_ _doctor_

 _3._ _No mind control spells_

 _4._ _Stretch_

 _5._ _Hydrate (potions don't count)_

 _6._ _However magical the creature, if it can talk it can give consent_

 _7._ _Hexes are temporary, curses are forever_

 _8._ _If using levitation, remember that you_ _will_ _fall post-climax_

 _9._ _Don't use the motion potion for lotion_

"If it burns when you pee, infirmary," Dean Fogg said from the front. "Red bumps like a curse, see a nurse…now let's talk about procreation at the basics…do not assume that your classmate is human, just because they look it. Hybrids abound."

Hope leaned her head in her hand wondering what on earth possessed her to take more school during the summer.

"DNA magic develops in utero, which can affect the mother unpredictably, which can result in maiming or death…"

"How was Sex Ed?" Quinn grinned at Hope's scowl, catching her as she left the room. "Yeah, you and George don't strike me as the type to jump immediately in the sack…that may be the only man I respect."

Hope snorted, shoving her notebook into her bag. "I have boundaries; George respects that."

"Which is why I approve of him," Quinn replied easily, undeterred.

"What? Does Dean not count?" Hope mused, thoughts distant. She hadn't spoken to Dean in weeks and it was starting to become disheartening.

"Eh, he's an extension of Diane," Quinn waved a hand. "He doesn't count."

"I'll tell him you said that."

Quinn turned their head to survey Hope calmly. "Mari," they said using a nickname that Hope was sure was going to stick, "you're still looking pale. You need to get more sun."

That made Hope laugh, even if it was a trifle forced.

"Maybe you should postpone your leaving for another day," Quinn suggested and Hope frowned.

"I'll see how I feel after a nap," she decided, looking down at her notebook and then shoving it into her bag with a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Quinn continued, narrowing their eyes. "You look…confused."

Hope huffed. "I dunno, it's just…the Dean was talking about 'sexual urges' or whatever and…is that something that people honestly experience? It sounded pretty made up."

Quinn sniggered. "That cements it."

"Huh?"

"You're probably somewhere on the asexual spectrum, that's all," Quinn shrugged. "Not really experiencing sexual attraction or wanting to shag George."

"I'm thirteen," Hope replied dubiously, a bit thrown off.

"Some people don't really care about that, keep that in mind," Quinn warned. "Never go anywhere without that knife of yours."

"Which one?" Hope said dryly. "I'm carrying three on me and another in my bag."

Quinn bared their teeth. "Atta girl. Now come with me to my office, I've got your birthday present."

"It's not for another few days," Hope complained, but she still followed. "Gods, please tell me you didn't get me anything outrageous, you totally did, didn't you?"

"Listen, I am allowed to splurge a little on my girlfriend's kid, okay?" Quinn huffed.

"Yeah?" Hope arched an eyebrow. "What're you getting Dean?"

"Art supplies, what'd you get him?"

"New sketchbook," Hope grumbled as she was handed a box. "This feels heavy."

"Well, then I guess you'd better open it."

Hope gave her a sour look, opening the box. The first thing she saw was a flask set in silver with a raven styled into it. "Starting alcoholism a bit early, aren't you?"

"Take a swig," Quinn laughed.

Hope scrutinized them intently for a moment before unscrewing the top and— "Wait, is this _pomegranate tea?"_

Quinn absolutely cackled as Hope set it aside. "Whoa…is this my basilisk skin?" It shimmered that dangerous green; it could be nothing else. She hadn't done much with it since selling most of the corpse to the apothecary in Diagon Alley. It'd just been sitting around gathering dust. She lifted it out of the box and stared at it in awe.

It looked like a greener, shinier leather jacket, looking more scaley than any leather jacket she'd ever seen. "Whoa," she said finally, "this is fucking amazing!"

"Took a bit of work, but your mum knows someone very skilled in making clothes from scales," Quinn was totally preening but Hope didn't say anything about, nor about how they'd called Diane her mother, she just threw her arms around her mentor.

"Thanks," Hope said, releasing them. "Its _amazing."_

Quinn winked their only eye. "Now, babe, do try not to blow yourself up with any new spells, won't you?"

"Fuck you, Quinn," Hope laughed, collecting her things and heading towards the door.

"And come up with a mantra to help your meditation!" they fired back, laughing when Hope flipped them off as they headed off to their next class and Hope headed off to her motorbike, speeding back to her little slice of paradise.

Quinn had talked about a mantra before, it was a good way to focus when you were new to meditation, and they never said what theirs had been, just that it had to be important to the specific person. ("I once knew someone whose mantra was 'I'm one with the Force'" they'd laughed.)

Hope had found one, but she hadn't tried much at meditating since coming to Greece. She was working hard and she didn't have the time for it.

Quinn didn't like that thinking.

"There is always time to meditate," they'd said, giving her a very direct look.

Hope's fingers fumbled through the letters, less imprecise than they'd been the previous day, but sign language gave her more trouble than Greek did; Greek made sense, Greek was as natural as breathing. But sign language was the best way to prepare yourself for hand tuts that spells required.

Her fingers dropped to brush against the cover of the first notebook that Dean had given her to jot into, ironically named 'Nightmare Journal' (he'd gotten her a new one that made her laugh because it bore the title 'Ledger of Perceived Slights' but Hope was determined to only write completed spells in that one). Its pages were ruffled with use and one corner was stained with blood from a few days ago when Hope had actually attempted Letum Ultima, just to see if it worked.

Magic is not to be dicked around with, the Dean had said but Hope had signed the waiver: _magic is not unlikely to kill you, and if so, oh well._

Hope had screwed up the spell, so it was on her to fix it; Hope was used to having to fix her problems.

So, she settled on the floor, crossing her legs and breathing in and out deeply.

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth," she murmured to herself. "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth…"

And in a mirror mounted on the wall, a smile flickered where Hope couldn't see it.

* * *

"Okay, this is the last one, I promise!" Hope grinned, showing the page to Quinn who gave her an indulgent smile, knowing she was dragging her heels about heading towards Wales -she was already leaving two days later than planned-, where she'd be spending her time until going to the Weasleys and then the Quidditch World Cup. Quinn didn't understand the hype, and Hope didn't either, but she thought everyone else was so excited, she might enjoy it as well. "I'm calling it the Peverell Web. It's a ward that has more than four points to break through, so if you want to get past it, you have to break it down layer by layer!"

Quinn gave her a wry smile. "Did you get a look at Brakebills wards? Is that what inspired this?"

"No, a spiderweb," Hope shrugged. "Why? What do the wards look like?"

Quinn laughed, ruffling Hope's hair. "Don't worry about it, Mari. So, ready to head back home?"

"Never had one," Hope shrugged. "Ready to head north, even though it's nothing like Greece."

"Well, you're not wrong there," Quinn laughed, "Diane says you should come by for lunch at some point, whenever Dean gets back from Seamus', I guess."

Hope didn't say anything for a moment. "It's casual," she shrugged finally, closing her notebook, "whenever you've got time. I've got no plans."

Quinn smiled and opened their mouth but there was a sudden ringing. "Oh, shit! My class!"

Hope laughed. "See you around, Mentor Adiyodi." She bowed in a way that was as polite as it was sarcastic.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you _damn brat!"_

That only made Hope laugh louder.

* * *

Hope hadn't talked much about it but George could read between the lines and figure out that Hope had been taking some sort of classes in Greece, which probably had something to do with her mentor, because he remembered her saying something about Quinn being a professor, but she was done with them now and had been in Wales for the past few days.

Ron had positively raving about the tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and of course Hope and Hermione had to be invited. Ginny was less than thrilled about having two more girls to share her room with, to which Ron offered to share his with Hope, but Mum had put her foot down about that.

"Oh, come on!" Ron had complained. "She's dating George! She's not even my type!"

Fred had laughed while George gave an agreeable hum, but Mum had always been a bit old-fashioned and had turned positively red when Ron had grumbled about Hope and Dean sharing a room without _his_ mum throwing a fit.

George didn't think that Mum liked Diane Thomas very much.

But he also didn't think she was going to like _him_ very much either when he snuck off in the early morning to pick up Hope with his father's Ford Anglia, leaving only a note saying: _Gone to pick up Hope, be back later! -George._

* * *

 _The Siren_ was nowhere near close to its former glory, but Hope had finally chipped the last of the barnacles clinging to its hull and had rid the wood of the mildew that had accumulated during its time hidden away under the castle.

Her muscles had started to ache, so she had sat herself on the bowsprit, balancing on it where it came out of the bow, closing her eyes and began to poke around with her mental defenses.

"Never assume that your mental protections are complete and that they can't be improved upon," Quinn had said seriously. "Nothing is ever perfect, remember that."

And Hope did, looking around her mental labyrinth, looking for cracks to patch and new doors to build, and then Hope paused, because there was always a door that she'd overlooked. It was easy to overlook, though, it was the same color as the others, just with a few cracks and some mold growing from the cracks.

She frowned before seizing the door and opening it.

It was a long-darkened hallway that gave Hope an uneasy feeling.

Then the door slammed shut behind her and she felt even more uneasy. But a little darkness had never frightened Hope. She took a step forward feeling like she was walking across grass on a cold Autumn night.

Whispers all around her echoing in the silence.

_"I'm sorry! I tried to fix it but I couldn't!"_

_"You promised me, Adelaide! You broke your oath! I was stupid to ever love you!"_

The voices were so wrought with pain and sorrow that Hope could practically feel it in the air.

 _"I've done what I can,"_ a pained voice spoke, _"I can't stop you but they can."_

 _"I will make sure they never exist_ ," another voice snarled, cold and echoing.

The first laughed. _"No matter what you try, you will lose…I've ensured that they remain hidden, far from your sight. The Lost Four. If I die, I will die knowing that one day there will be others, powerful enough to destroy you when I could not."_

She took a few more steps forward, seeing a door just beyond reach.

 _"Morrigan was such a liar,"_ came a ragged whisper, _"I should've known better—"_

 _"No god lies, tells half truths perhaps, but we do not lie; we have no need to,"_ the second voice was so achingly familiar but Hope couldn't place it.

 _"Don't worry,"_ a new voice hissed in her ear, _"you won't remember any of this."_

She grasped the knob and threw it open.

It was a room that looked like it was blown apart but barren…actually, it looked an awful like what her room in Godric's Hollow had looked like, if it was devoid of possessions…which was… _weird._

Because the room felt strange…there was something child-like about it, something unfamiliar and dangerous that made her want to go out the door she'd come through.

Hope walked across the room to grip the opposite door but it wouldn't budge.

Whose room was this?

"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."

Hope recognized that voice. Pettigrew's weak and tremulous voice wasn't one you easily forgot, especially when it was the reason you couldn't live with one of your godfathers, the only godfather that had real claim to raising you.

She peered through the blown apart opening in the room to look down on a different room with a blazing fire in a cold fireplace and an armchair facing it as Pettigrew fluttered around nervously.

"Later," said a second voice, high-pitched and easily recognizable as well.

Voldemort.

"Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

Pettigrew put down the bottle heavily on a nearby table before carefully dragging the heavy armchair forward.

"Where is Nagini?" Voldemort hissed suddenly and Pettigrew twisted his fingers together uncomfortably.

"I — I don't know, My Lord," he said, flinching. "She set out to explore the house, I think..."

"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," Voldemort's tone brooked no argument. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."

Hope frowned slightly. Nagini? Sounded like some kind of animal companion, if you asked her, but there was no way that it was anything less than a snake; he would've considered that to be a shame for someone descended from Slytherin…and if it was a snake, how on earth was consuming its venom going to make him better?

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," Voldemort was unconcerned. "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."

That didn't make much sense. Why did he even care about the Quidditch World Cup?

"The — the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?" Pettigrew faltered. "Forgive me, but — I do not understand — why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, _fool_ ," Voldemort snapped, "at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So, _we wait."_

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?"

"Certainly, I am _determined_ , Wormtail." Pettigrew flinched again and Hope thought it was well-deserved. She wondered what her father would think of his former friend being referred to by his schoolboy nickname by Voldemort; she hoped he would've been furious.

She missed what he said next, but Voldemort didn't.

"Without Hope Potter? I see…"

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the girl!" Pettigrew stuttered out quickly. "The girl is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard — _any_ witch or wizard — the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while — you know that I can disguise myself most effectively — I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person —"

"I _could_ use another witch," Voldemort agreed in a mild way that reminded Hope uncomfortably of Nath when he was debating a point, "that is true…"

"My Lord, it makes sense," Pettigrew was becoming breathless. "Laying hands on Hope Potter would be so difficult, she is so well protected —"

"Not really," Hope muttered to herself, but no one had nabbed her yet and Hope valued her freedom far too much to bring to attention that she'd actually been kicked out by the Dursleys.

"And so, you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder...perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?" Voldemort was a hard man to fool.

"My Lord! I — I have no wish to leave you, none at all —"

"Do not lie to me!" Voldemort hissed. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me..."

_Who wouldn't?_

"No! My devotion to Your Lordship —" Pettigrew tried to insist but was cut off.

"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"

"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord —"

"Liar," Voldement seethed. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. _Silence!"_ And Pettigrew certainly fell silent with a flinch. "I have my reasons for using the girl, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other…she has robbed me of _more than you can imagine."_

That made Hope frown again. Was he talking about his body? It couldn't be with that kind of pain in his voice, but it wasn't as though Hope had done anything else…

"I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the girl, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail — courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort's wrath —"

"My Lord, I must speak!" Pettigrew was growing more panicked and twitching fiercely. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head — My Lord, Bertha Jorkins's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder —"

Who was Bertha Jorkins?

"If? _If?_ If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition... Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Hope Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us —"

Hope didn't like that.

 _"I_ am a faithful servant," Pettigrew muttered sourly and Hope rolled her eyes.

"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement," at least Voldemort was smart enough to figure that out.

"I found you," Pettigrew said quickly, more to cover his ass than anything else. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."

"That is true. A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail — though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"

"I — I thought she might be useful, My Lord —" Pettigrew was cut off again.

"Liar," Hope didn't like how Voldemort's amusement echoed her own. It made her feel violently ill. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform..."

"Hey, Hope?"

The voice jarred her so violently that Hope's eyes snapped open on the bowsprit and she yelped as she teetered off it, falling immediately into the shallows.

She lay there for a moment, water lazily flowing around her, befuddled, but then a face appeared above her, concerned.

"You all right?" George asked, before looking up to where she'd been sitting. "Sorry, I didn't think I'd—"

Her legs shot out, knocking his feet out from under him, sending him tumbling into the water. "Haha! Take _that,_ Rebel Scum!"

George was startled for exactly one second and then he was splashing water on her and pinning her down.

Hope laughed loudly, throwing all her weight against her hip to knock him onto his back, still in the shallows so neither of them accidentally drowned.

 _"Baby_ ," she said with a grin when he turned pink, "fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah," George was choked on his breath, "fancy that. You, um, look good." Her hair was more auburn than red, and her cheeks were dark from the sun, but his hands were on her hips and he could feel the belt strap that held one of her knives to her back, which remained her most attractive quality.

Her eyes gleamed and she leaned forward, catching his hair in her fingers and kissing him hard. George tried to not get dizzy from the feeling but it was hard, because she was moving against him and was so very warm and he wanted to be absolutely swallowed.

When they parted, what seemed like hours later, her lips were red and swollen and he wanted to go back for seconds, but he nuzzled her neck instead. "Missed you," he mumbled into her skin.

"One day," Hope sighed, fingers still in his hair and he liked them there far too much to complain, "we're gonna end up snogging in Greece."

"I'd be fine with that," he muttered, pressing a kiss to the edge of the scar across her throat, grinning when she swallowed thickly.

She leaned back so she could get a look at his face, tracing lightly over his skin, taking in every freckle, the flash of gold in his eyes when the sun glanced across him just right, turning his hair to fire.

"You're staring," he grinned.

"Mm-hm, hubba _hubba,"_ she agreed, smirking when he hid his burning cheeks in her chest while she laughed. "Oh, I love you, George Weasley."

He squeezed her hips with a muffled. "Yeah?"

She smiled widely, feeling lighter than she had in a while. "Promise." She kissed the top of his head before blinking. "Wait, what're you doing here?"

She clamored off him so that she could drag him upright before plucking her green-lensed glasses out of the water and straightening.

"Picking you up before Mum tries to go through the floo network to the Dursleys," he said dryly and Hope frowned viciously. He looked down at her hand where he had it grasped in his hand. "New tattoos?"

"Cloaking sigils," Hope grinned widely. "Borrowed from Quinn."

"That's hot," George muttered and her grin broadened, darting forward to kiss his flushed cheek soundly before dragging him by the hand towards the castle that he only realized was there after she pulled him through the gates.

"Okay, wait here! I'll grab my shit!" and then Hope was running off into the castle that George couldn't help but gape at…there were a lot of snakes in the architecture, but that made sense, since it had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin.

Hope must not've bothered to unpack because she was out in a matter of minutes, wringing the excess water from her hair. "Okay, I'm ready to go!" she beamed. "Did you bring the flying car?"

George laughed.

* * *

"You ever think Georgie would land a girlfriend?" Charlie asked Bill dubiously while listening to their mother rage about his taking off with the car without hardly a word. For what it was worth, Dad seemed unsurprised and faintly amused.

Bill shrugged. George had never had a 'girl-crazy' phase growing up. He'd always been more interested in potions, that and he'd always been a bit shy. Bill thought he still was, a little, and though Fred had always inspired him to be more outgoing, Bill knew George would always be the quieter, gentler twin. "He seemed really flustered about her when they mirror-called in Egypt last summer."

Charlie was vaguely impressed, startled by a loud roar of delight: "HOPE!" And then Ron was rushing down the stairs and leaping out into the sunlight as a flying car made its way down to skid in the gravel before coming to a halt and an equally delighted face appearing out the passenger window.

"RON!"

She didn't even bother to wait for the car to slowly come to stop, throwing open the door and leaping out with a laugh to throw her arms around their youngest brother while George hopped out the front seat, grimacing at Mum's scowl.

They couldn't hear what Ron and Hope were saying, they were too far away, but then Ginny darted around them to hug her as well.

"Why are you damp?" Ginny asked loudly and Hope laughed.

"Your brother knocked me into the sea."

Fred sniggered while George rolled his eyes. "How was I supposed to know that you'd be so startled that you'd fall in yourself?"

She blew him a kiss. "Love you, baby."

He rolled his eyes again, cheeks significantly pinker.

"GEORGE FABIAN WEASLEY!"

Everyone in the vicinity winced and George might've been cowering slightly against the Ford Anglia in the face of their mother.

"What in Merlin's name were you thinking going off by yourself! You could've been _seen!_ You could've _died!"_

"That sounds familiar," Hope muttered to Ron who struggled to hide his smirk.

"I wanted to pick up my girlfriend!" George retorted a bit miffed.

"Baby, did you steal your dad's car?" Hope asked him suddenly, eyes gleaming. "Because that's really _hot."_

George turned red and Fred high-fived Hope, dying of laughter, as he always seemed to be these days.

"That's my brother," Ron pointed out, vaguely annoyed.

"Yup, it sure _fucking_ is," Hope grinned, an arm around his shoulders. "And he's an amazing kisser!"

Ron groaned loudly and George was hiding his face in his hand. "You always do this!" And then he was dragging Hope away with Ginny grinning and taking her bag from her easily. "How was—Oh, yeah, you haven't really met Bill or Charlie, have you?"

Hope Potter slid her green-lensed sunglasses up into her rough auburn ponytail so they could see the vivid green eyes and the lightning scar that was spread across her brow -larger than Bill remembered it being- and another scar straight across her throat. Bill guessed that was why her voice sounded rougher than it had when he'd first seen her in the mirror.

"Hi," she said with a sharp smile, "I'm Hope."

Charlie considered her, with all the earrings in her ears and rings adorning her fingers. Somehow, she didn't line up at all with what he'd been expecting of his kid brother's friend…or his other kid brother's girlfriend. "Charlie," he said finally, "you're dating George?"

Hope bared her teeth, resting her hands on her hips and Charlie realized he hadn't noticed that there was a knife holster at the back of her belt. "Sure am. Why? Got a problem with that?"

"Uh…" Charlie found those disconcerting eyes on him as if daring him to say 'yes'.

"No," Bill said smoothly, saving face for Charlie, "hello, Hope, nice to meet you in person."

Hope's smile was just a trifle warmer as she shook his hand. "Bill. Find any good curses in Egypt?"

"Why?" Bill laughed. "Looking for some new ones?"

Hope shrugged casually. "I made a pretty devastating one last year, but it nearly killed me a few weeks ago so I've gotta make some tweaks." Then she waved and headed inside with Ron, leaving the pair to stare after her in bemusement.

"Gotta wonder about George's taste, though," Charlie muttered and Bill couldn't say he was wrong.

But later that night when George was done getting dressed down by their mother -Dad only stepping in when she'd threatened to keep him from going to the Cup- and they were all sitting together to eat dinner, Bill found himself watching them. Hope and George didn't say much to each other, though Hope hadn't said much all day unless it was to Ron or Ginny or the twins -George had shrugged saying she'd had a lot of trouble getting into contact with a school friend- simply sitting beside each other and undoubtedly holding hands under the table.

"I do have an idea for my birthday, though," Hope was saying to Ron, which was apparently in a few days, "how would you guys feel about sleeping over at my place in Greece? There's a lot of space and its right next to the sea—"

"Um, is that even a _question?"_ Ginny asked immediately. "Can we go right now?"

Hope laughed. "I think we'd have to ask your parents."

"I'm gonna leave that up to Ginny," Ron decided. "She's got the best puppy eyes." Fred and George nodded sagely in agreement.

"Are there going to be adults there?" Mum asked archly.

"I mean, yeah, Quinn's an adult—" Hope snorted.

"I'm not sure she counts—"

 _"Excuse me?"_ Hope snapped her head back towards Mum and the look on her face was so offended. _Yikes._

" _Ooh,"_ Ron muttered into his hand.

Dad cleared his throat, evidently scenting danger. "I think if Quinn doesn't mind watching you all, there's no reason that the children shouldn't be allowed to visit for a day…if Quinn doesn't mind grabbing you lot."

"They don't," Hope said immediately with a wide grin that was a touch too forced. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley."

"Dad, you're the coolest!" Ginny crowed.

"Thanks, Dad!"

Bill allowed himself a private smile as Hope leaned back into her chair, still looking a little annoyed, no matter how pleased she was. George rubbed his fingers into her shoulder and she gave him a small kiss on the cheek. It was sweet, he couldn't deny it. And it was hilarious how red George's face got when Fred let slip that he'd gotten Hope a knife sharpening rock because, apparently, he had a thing for his girlfriend possessing sharp objects.

* * *

"Wow!" Ron gazed in awe past the gate that Hope was currently unlocking before making a motion with her hand and resting it palm up on the ground and lifting up a barrier that shimmered blue, allowing them all to duck under it to get inside. "This is amazing!"

It was a hard thing to get used to, to start with, the fact that his best mate had so much money. It had been something Ron really didn't like to bring attention to, his own family's money compared to Hope's. Malfoy had been the one to bring it up to goad the pair of them and Hope had been downright icy when she'd said " _Family or money, I know which one I'd pick."_

So, Ron took a deep breath and accepted it.

"Well, someone was renovating it," Hope admitted, just a bit flustered, "I'm still working on tweaking the wards, they're not the best…"

George kissed her cheek as they all spread out to investigate.

"The kitchen's my favorite," Hope admitted with a laugh, "want to go for a swim?"

"Uh, absolutely," Ron laughed.

And a few hours later found them with Ron and Ginny lazing around in the shallows, basking in the sun while Hope showed Fred and George her journal under the shade of an umbrella.

"Okay, what about this one? Letum Ultima?" Fred read out the words.

"If you wanna die," Hope snorted. "I tried it a few weeks ago and I ended up vomiting my weight in blood, you'd need god-level power for it to work, anyways…but this one I'll give you." She ripped out a page and handed it George.

"Why?" he asked. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing wrong with it, I just can't get it to work right," Hope admitted, frowning slightly. "It's supposed to be a daydream spell, but I figure that'd be something you two could make and market for your store."

"Hope, I'm saying this seriously, you are the best person I've ever met," Fred said seriously, grasping her cheeks and kissing her brow. "Leave George for me."

Hope howled with laughter, falling off her beach chair and George gave his twin a sour look. "You're the worst, Gred."

"Why, thank you, Forge!"

Hope kissed George. "I know something that'll cheer you up."

"A snog?" he asked mutinously, making Fred snigger and Hope roll her eyes as she stood, tugging him after her across the beach to the steps that led back up to the main house, leading him down the hall on the main level. "Where're we going?"

Hope grinned. "Shut your eyes, baby, and no peaking!"

"You know, I'm still not sure how much I like 'baby'," George muttered as he complied, jumping and swallowing thickly when Hope pressed a sound kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 _"Liar,"_ she breathed. "You love it." She grinned against him and he knew she could see the flush in his cheeks. "Okay, open!"

George blinked a few times, looking around and taking everything in. It was like Snape's potions classroom, but warmer and full of anything George could possibly want. There were shelves upon shelves of potion ingredients, anything as common as billywig parts, knotgrass, and fluxweed to ingredients that were more expensive, like moondew, hemlock essence, pearl dust, and—

"Venomous Tentacula seeds?" George gaped, grabbing the full jar and staring at her. "It's not—is it _really?"_

Hope laughed.

"That's a C-class Non-tradable Substance!" George was still goggling at her. "How did you get your hands on it?"

Hope gave him a wink for good measure. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

For a moment he stood there, staring at her like she was something else before going back to investigating. There were books on the shelves too. The usual ones like: _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , _Advanced Potion-Making_ , the _Potion Opuscule_ , and _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_. And then there were rarer books like: _Moste Potente Potions_ , the _Book of Potions_ (a copy which Hope had gotten for George the previous year), and _Potions, Poisons, and Philters for the Ages._

There were a few copper cauldrons tucked away, a few silver knives lying about, a mortar and pestle next to some scales, with a few stoppered potions in a shuttered cabinet.

"This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," George said finally and Hope laughed.

"I figure you and Fred can use this place to work on stuff, especially since your mum's not a fan—" and he turned to look at her. The sunlight shining through the window catching on her auburn hair and making her eyes shine. Her scars had never been darker, like intricate spiderwebs catching on her brow, thin and sharp at her throat.

"What?" Hope asked, faintly confused.

And George approached her, his fingers sinking into her hair as he kissed her deeply, swallowing her surprise. Hope's eyes slid closed and she wound an arm across his shoulders, pulling herself as high as she would go on her tip toes, mouth sliding open under his.

When they broke apart, Hope was flushed, her mouth tingling, her hair tangled and was absolutely breathless.

"That was nice," she grinned against his jaw, as high as she was willing to reach. "You could stand to do it more."

"Yeah?" George's ears were red and his hair was in complete disarray. "What will your godfather say?"

Hope smirked. Nath liked George but Sirius did not and that was on him. " _Fuck 'im."_

George's laughter was bright and golden.

* * *

They'd fallen asleep in a pile and Quinn, evidently wanting to prove that they'd kept an eye on them the whole time, had thrown a blanket over the five slumbering children, just to say that they'd been there before moving on, but it was still early when Hope awoke, pulling herself gingerly from between George and Ron to frown up the stairs, because she could've sworn there had been something there only a moment ago.

Hope took the stairs silently, seeing a raven fluttering there, like her Patronus, going right through the door as though it wasn't there.

She frowned, turning the nob to enter the room and staring. The raven was hovering in the air, making eye contact and giving a single 'caw!' before flying through Hope's mirror mounted on the wall, the mirror rippling as though it was the surface of a pool, before solidifying once more.

"Wait!" Hope's hand collided with the mirror but she couldn't make it through.

It was just a mirror.

Hope huffed in annoyance. Mirror Lady and her mirrors, because obviously, who else could it _be?_ For a moment she stood there, her hand on the mirror, trying to look through it, as she often had as a child, but there was nothing…just a fourteen-year-old who was barely a witch, barely a magician, and wondering if she was something else entirely.

She withdrew her hand to turn and look at her bed, surprised by the assortment of gifts laying there. Nath had been the one to get her the Hobbit, a copy that was now so battered from use, and clearly, he was following the theme, gifting her the complete trilogy of Lord of the Rings.

 _For the adventurer who needs no magic to find her place in the world_ , he'd written on a small card and Hope couldn't help but smile.

Sirius' had no note, but he didn't strike her as a man well known for his letters. It was an arm holster for a wand with a hippogriff feather tucked inside, and Hope might not like wands or wand magic as much as other branches of magic, but it was still a nice gift from a godfather to his goddaughter.

The third one had a letter with curling script that spelled out ' _Dear Heart'_ and Hope beamed, breaking the seal immediately.

_'One day you and I will be able to sit and talk with one another like you've always dreamed, dear heart, but for now, I hope you'll settle for a simple compass that will always point you in the direction you need to go.'_

Hope lifted it up, opening it and watching the dial twirl around before pointing to the west and Hope following it out to the pile of kids still fast asleep, and she smiled impossibly wide as it pointed to where George lay.

So, she took it in hand and settled back into the space she'd left, sinking into George's side like she belonged there and trying not to feel like something was missing.

* * *

"You know I can tell when you're faking a smile, right?" Ron asked her archly from where he was cleaning his room. And honestly, how unfair was it that he had to clean it but Fred and George didn't have to even though they were all bunking together while Bill and Charlie were staying there. "What's going on? Is it… _Padfoot?"_

Hope frowned from where she was sitting on top of George's cot, jotting down a painful spell to separate the bones in the spine, if she was feeling like being an asshole. Hermione would call it barbaric, but Hope called it therapeutic, getting everything out in a healthier way than going out and testing it out on someone breathing. "He's not exactly a talkative guy…no, I'm just…in a depressive rut."

Ron straightened a bunch of comics to turn around and look at her. "Anything I can do to help?" he asked, completely earnest. He remembered how she'd been in second year…like she'd been seconds away from _fracturing._ That year had been absolutely _foul,_ even for Ron…and everyone had been downright awful to Hope and the teachers had hardly helped at all. He knew that she took something muggle for what she called 'clinical depression' which Hermione had explained was a medical condition that couldn't really be fixed with magic…but it didn't stop her from getting into ruts.

Hope held something out to him and he took it, frowning. It was an article from the Daily Prophet, an old one, from back when You-Know-Who was just defeated.

"Bartemius Crouch Sr.," he read out, "what—Percy's boss?"

Hope nodded.

Ron continued to read, and then he sat down heavily beside her. "Hope," he said finally, "what happened with Dumbledore at the end of term?" He remembered her being absolutely furious, silently furious, as she always seemed to be, completely ignoring him during the End of Term Feast, eyes a cold black.

Hope sighed heavily, looking down at her equations. "Diane gave me a file for Christmas last year, she told me to only open it when I was ready…I honestly forgot about it until the end of term, but…" She ducked out of the room briefly and when she came back moments later, it was to hand him a thick envelope.

Ron took it silently, reading the contents carefully and she watched as his frown deepened into a scowl. "I'd hate him too," he said finally, handing it all back. "I _do_ hate him…you didn't deserve any of that to happen to you."

She blinked a few times. "Thanks." She hadn't actually done back to the Dursleys since the last summer. After Marge's death, Vernon had made it clear she wasn't welcome in their home. Just because Hope had a habit of predicting death didn't mean she was the one causing it, but that had never mattered to him, or to Petunia.

Honestly, Ron couldn't imagine growing up like Hope had, with more bruises and broken bones than he could count.

"George is good for you," he told her finally, "he treats you like you're the only thing he sees…and you deserve something like that."

Hope scrubbed at her eyes quickly. "Thanks, Ron," she whispered roughly.

"What'm here for," Ron promised with a grin, but they both jolted suddenly when the door opened. "Mum! _Geez!_ Would knocking _kill you?!"_

"Oh, like the pair of you are doing something that needs a knock," Mrs. Weasley said before abruptly narrowing her eyes.

"We're having a private conversation!" Ron sputtered angrily while Hope blinked in incomprehension.

Mrs. Weasley ignored that. "I'm just bringing you all your books for the next term and—"

"Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress," Ron said suddenly and Hope closed her journal, replacing the papers in her envelope before lifting her eyes to stare at the robes Ron was holding. It was a sort of maroon velvet, trimmed with some suspicious-looking lace at the neck and sleeves, not the kind of thing Ron would want to be caught dead in; Ron looked better in blue anyways.

"Of course, I haven't," Mrs. Weasley waved him off. "That's for you. Dress robes."

"What?" Ron gaped, sharing a startled look with Hope.

"Dress robes!" she had to repeat. "It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year...robes for formal occasions."

"You've got to be kidding," Ron was still looking at the material in his hand in horror. "I'm not wearing that, no way."

" _Everyone_ wears them, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley replied, fairly peeved. "They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!"

"I'll go starkers before I put that on," said Ron stubbornly and Hope sniggered.

"Don't be so silly! You've got to have dress robes, they're on your list! I got a dress for Hope, too!"

Hope's amusement died immediately. "A _dress?"_ she repeated. "No, I can't wear a dress."

It looked like a nice dress, if someone was into that, Hope supposed. It was a long and heavy green with green lace sleeves, but it made Hope's stomach curl. The idea of wearing a dress or a skirt…made her want to _vomit_. It just reminded her of Petunia and every teacher at her old school. Give Hope shirts and trousers any day.

"I'm sorry, dear, but it's a requirement," Mrs. Weasley was as exasperated with Hope as she was with her own son.

"I'll wear a suit, then," Hope replied miffed.

"Those are for men," Mrs. Weasley insisted aggrieved. "Specifically, men who are _muggles!"_

Hope opened her mouth to furiously before locking her jaw furiously and going back to her journal, pointedly ignoring Mrs. Weasley until she left and Ron couldn't help but sigh.

* * *

"What's wrong? You've been off all night and I don't think it has anything to do with Mum…not totally."

It was the night before they were supposed to leave to go to the Quidditch World Cup and Hope couldn't sleep. She lifted her eyes from where she was staring out into the darkness, watching the shadows under the moon to meet George's concerned ones. "Sorry," she sighed, "it's just…I don't do great in crowds."

Which was true. People swarming around her made her feel like a fly caught in a spider web, just waiting for death or a punch, at the very least. But it wasn't the only thing on her mind. Mirror Lady had been quiet lately and Hope's dreams…terrifying. The Blood-Soaked Tree wasn't the only thing cropping up now… "It's probably all the magic," Hope muttered to herself.

"What's all the magic?" George asked.

"There's a lot of magic in your house," she muttered, more to herself. Kingsley and the Dean's house had magic, but it was a house that belonged to a magician and his wizard husband, it had felt more natural…the Burrow felt like someone had sprayed too much perfume and it was lingering in the air and Hope was _fucking allergic_ , that's how it felt.

She'd noticed it when she was twelve, but Hope was used to being uncomfortable, so she'd just pushed it aside…but there'd been so much magic today that she'd felt like she was drowning. Mrs. Weasley used magic for absolutely everything, which Hope didn't understand…it was possible to cook without using it, Hope honestly preferred it that way.

"Is that bad?" George's curious voice cut through her musings.

"No, I just…there's no need to use it for everything," Hope finally managed with a bit of frustration. "Magic should have limits, most magic has limits and wand-magic is just—" She gave a frustrated huff, pressing a hand to her brow, tracing over where Rookwood's spell had carved new fractals into her skin. "It doesn't matter, it's… _whatever."_

"Hope," George said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently, "did something happen in Greece?"

She dropped her hand to feel the comfortable hilt of the knife belted to her back. " _Something_ happened," she agreed finally, "I just found something out about myself that I wish I hadn't."

"Something you're ready to share?" George asked and Hope remembered Ron telling her about his mother's second cousin, someone in the family that didn't have magic but that they didn't speak about or to.

Hope's heart sank.

"No," she said finally, "I need to work it out on my own."

"Well, just so you know, I'm a great listener." George winked and Hope laughed loudly, leaning up to kiss him lightly, unaware of eyes in the distance watching her carefully.

* * *

Hope waited until everyone had gone to sleep before closing her eyes and casting her mind inward. George had interrupted her the last time she'd meditated, but that wasn't really his fault, and it wasn't the reason she was sitting on her makeshift bed in Ginny's room, breathing in and out deeply, centering herself with the faintest murmur of her mantra.

But when she opened her eyes, she wasn't in her mind labyrinth, or even Quinn's room as Brakebills, full of crystals and heavy curtains…she was on the ground, surrounded by fog.

Hope sat up, looking around herself in confusion. "Hello?" she called before muttering to herself, "yeah, great idea, call out when you don't even know where the fuck you are, that's smart."

There was an answering chuckle and Hope twisted around violently, but there was nothing there. Hope scrutinized the thick fog.

"You seem to be lost in the fog, dear heart," came the voice Hope knew so well. "Perhaps I can be an ear to the struggles you bury down deep."

Hope faltered.

"You shouldn't bear all your burdens alone, dear heart," Mirror Lady's voice was gentle and unwaveringly kind and Hope's eyes pricked remembering the countless days and nights she'd thought Mirror Lady was her own mother. "I am listening with an open heart and an open mind."

Hope sighed and sat again. "I've never been very good at wand magic, I've had to work harder than everyone else on even the simplest spells and it took me weeks upon weeks to even get the Patronus charm to work…and then I go to Brakebills and everything makes sense, but I find out I have a limited amount of magic to use because I wasn't born with it…because someone put it _inside me_ …and I just, I don't know what to do."

"Do you hate magic?" Mirror Lady asked.

"…no," Hope said finally, "but I don't really like it either…it's just kinda… _there_ , you know. If I didn't go to Hogwarts, I wouldn't've met Dean or Hermione and Ron or George…but I still feel like a fraud."

"None of that is your fault," Mirror Lady explained patiently. "You were put through a specific and dangerous ritual when you were a baby, but some people gain magic that way."

"Not here," Hope muttered. "I feel…like an outcast even when I'm with my friends. I don't want to be a specific piece on a chess board that I can't even see, I just want to be _me."_

"And what exactly is Hope Marina Peverell?" Out of nowhere, the Mirror of Erised materialized before her and Hope didn't see what she'd seen before.

This time she saw a grown woman with Hope's olive cheeks, eyes as dark as Nath's and hair pure white as though it had been shocked that way. She was scarred and her lips twisted into a smirk as one hand held a crossbow of some kind and the twisted in the air, doing one-handed poppers that only a master Magician should do, causing magic, bright and blue to ripple around her as she faded into the shadows.

"I don't know," she said finally, staring at the woman in the mirror in awe. She was the kind of warrior that Hope would've wanted to shield her from the Dursleys when she hadn't built enough of a thick skin.

"It's okay if you don't know who you are, dear heart," Hope could practically hear the smile. "Discovering who you are is part of the adventure."

Hope frowned deeply. "This doesn't sound like a fun adventure."

"Hm," Mirror Lady hummed. "Perhaps not, but it's one we all must take."

"Hope, _wake up!"_

Hope blinked her eyes open to see Hermione scrutinizing her intently.

"Did you get any rest at all?" Hermione asked her, concerned.

Hope blinked a few times before shrugging. "Maybe." She wasn't too concerned about it, but it made Hermione frown, even as she dressed quickly and silently, looping the raven-key necklace George had gotten her the previous year around her neck. "When did you get here?"

"Just now," Hermione said, looking like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she didn't. "Mrs. Weasley's got breakfast ready."

Hope descended the winding staircase two steps at a time and grabbed the first roll that she saw, but she had to stop mid-chew to stare at Mr. Weasley, because he looked like he had been dressed by a color confused person. He was wearing a worn golf sweater with a very shabby pair of jeans that were a little too big for a man of his size. Hope arched an eyebrow, swallowing thickly.

"What exactly are you wearing, Mr. Weasley?" she managed to ask.

Mr. Weasley rubbed his hands nervously over the front of his sweater. "Is it too bad? We're supposed to go incognito– do I look like a Muggle?"

Hope nodded with a contemplative smile. "Yeah, you look pretty good. I'd be more worried about what you say, though."

"I'll be extra careful," Mr. Weasley promised, looking uncharacteristically serious as his sons stumbled into view.

"Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" George asked between a yawn, almost running into Hope who had to steady him with an arm around his waist.

"You all right?" she asked in a bit of concern.

"Mm, just tired," George said, rubbing at his eyes as he practically fell into an empty seat at the table. "What about you?" Hope ran her hands through her hair, noting the black color with a frown before tangling it up into a high bun on the top of her head.

"I'll live," she said unconcerned, but she was always unconcerned about her life. It was the one thing about her he didn't like.

But he still leaned over to press a kiss to the edge of the scar on her neck and she swallowed thickly, turning pink and then red when he pulled back, shifting her eyes from his grin. Fred sniggered beside him.

"Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?" Mrs. Weasley said, answering George's question as she slid a bowl of porridge in front of each of her nearly-asleep sons, giving George, in particular, a reproachful glance. "So, they can have a bit of a lie-in."

"It's slightly noisier and less dangerous than Flashing," Ron told her, a bit more lucid now that he had something in his stomach, noticing the confusion on her face.

Hope hummed, rubbing at her arm where the grounding sigil was tattooed. She was still working on a different way to travel instantaneously, but one that would actually work with the sigil still in place. Mirror Bridges was an interesting concept but you needed a mirror on both ends. Quinn had rolled their eye and sniggered "What are you going to do? Rip a hole in space and time?" and honestly that was an interesting idea…

"So, they're still in bed?" Fred complained. "Why can't we Apparate too?"

"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test," snapped Mrs. Weasley as she disappeared upstairs.

"Why do you need to pass a test to Apparate?" Hope asked befuddled. Quinn hadn't had to to Travel, but there weren't that many Travelers to begin with. Traveling was a very specific skill and you couldn't learn it by any means. "Shouldn't practice make perfect?"

"Because Apparition isn't easy," Mr. Weasley said, placing the tickets into his pocket. "The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. When it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

"Splinched?" Hope asked, not understanding the term but assuming the worst at the winces from those that were sitting at the table.

"That's when you leave part of yourself behind when you Apparate," Mr. Weasley explained, bringing the treacle closer to himself. "So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind..."

"That doesn't sound pleasant," Hope said, "does it hurt?"

"Very rarely," he assured her, "this couple only got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition."

Didn't sound like something she wanted to, to be honest. "I'll keep it in mind," Hope said with that in mind as Ginny finally descended the stairs, still rubbing at her eyes.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" she complained.

"We've got a bit of a walk."

"Wait," Hope said, frowning, "is the World Cup that close?"

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley disagreed, smiling easily. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup...is everyone ready?"

There were a few grunts of assent as they all stood up, only to jump at Mrs. Weasley's sudden voice. "George!"

"What?" He said in a would-be-guiltless tone.

"What's that in your pocket?" She demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously.

 _"Nothing!"_ George insisted.

"Don't you lie to me!" She warned, and then she went so far as to pull out her wand and point it at George's pockets. _"Accio!"_

Her instincts turned out to be right as a number of small brightly colored candy-sized packages soared out of his pockets and into Mrs. Weasley's hands, despite George's attempts to snatch them out of the air. "Hey!"

"We told you to destroy them!" said Mrs. Weasley, her anger quite apparent, as Hope cupped her forehead in her hand. She had heard from Fred and George that their mother wasn't as…pleased with their choice of a future career, but Hope couldn't find anything wrong with it. She couldn't see either of the twins spending their lives working for the Ministry, that would probably bore them to bits.

She shot a look to Fred as if to say "Seriously?"

He shrugged and rolled his eyes, true annoyance obvious on his face.

"We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, but Hope had the feeling that 'We' was just Mrs. Weasley. _"Accio! Accio! Accio!"_

This time her wand was directed at both Fred and George, and Hope winced as the Ton-Tongue Toffees flew into the air from their pockets and linings of their clothes. Hope couldn't help but be silently impressed by the number of secret hiding places they had come up with for their merchandise. Hope's mouth dropped open when Mrs. Weasley threw away the toffees and she couldn't help but feel insulted on George's behalf that she would actually do that, toss out the twins' hard work as if it wasn't worth anything.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted in genuine anger. Hope had to say that was possibly the first time that she had ever seen him quite so mad.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" she responded in a shrill voice. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

"Hey!" Hope snapped, stepping between mother and sons, both parties which looked quite ready to explode. "Why don't we call it a day and just get going before someone says something they might regret, all right?"

George's jaw worked furiously. "Whatever you say, love," he said icily, still glowering at his mother as Hope picked up her bag for George to grab her hand tightly. He didn't look from glaring at his mother, who glowered back even as she kissed her husband goodbye. Hope had to hold onto her bag tightly as he all but dragged her out house in his haste to get away from his mother who called after them, "Well, have a lovely time, and _behave yourselves."_

They were about fifty paces away when Hope cleared her throat. "Well, it's a good thing she didn't try to search me…" George had convinced her to hide a few Weasley Wizard Wheezes amongst her things, knowing that his mother wouldn't go through her things because she generally had a positive disposition towards Hope. "Why is she still throwing such a fit?"

Fred gave a despairing sigh. "Because she's Mum, that's why. She doesn't need a reason. She didn't approve of Bill or Charlie's lines of work either, they're much too dangerous."

"Danger is what makes life a little fun," Hope said, squeezing George's hand which had thankfully loosened since they had left the house or she was afraid that she might have broken something. "I think you'll make a great business out of prank items, and I'm not just saying that because I'm in love with George," she added, making a pleased flush erupt on said boy's cheeks and a smirk appear on Fred's lips. "I'm saying that because it's the honest truth. You two could really make it work and one day she'll see it too."

Fred gave her a true smile, the first since his mother had taken away all of his and George's hard work. "If I wasn't afraid of how hard George would hit me, I would kiss you."

"Oh, Freddie, we shouldn't let George get in the way of true love!"

Fred laughed loudly and George rolled his eyes at their antics. "Good point—"

George pushed his brother away to throw an arm around Hope's shoulder, using his fingers to turn her smirking mouth towards his. "You think you're real cute, don't you?"

"Sure do, baby," Hope barely breathed before his lips met hers. "Want to love me more?" she asked when they parted.

"For what?" George grinned.

Hope withdrew a few Ton-Tongue Toffees that Mrs. Weasley had thrown away but she had rescued when her back was turned.

She tossed them over to Fred who caught them easily while George stared in awe. "You're something else, you know that?"

And her cheeks flushed at the compliment.

* * *

George didn't like Amos Diggory, especially at how rude he had been about his son supposedly beating Hope in that Quidditch match that the dementors had swarmed onto the field. Hope didn't seem too fazed, though, undoubtedly used to people bringing up her disappointments, turning instead to George to say loudly, "Georgie, did I tell you about that ship I found?"

(He didn't notice how she'd paled slightly at the sight of Cedric)

She had, but George didn't mind hearing it again, even as Cedric tossed an apologetic look their way. She wouldn't look at him; she was refusing to. "Yeah, it was Nelda's ship, right? Salazar Slytherin's daughter?"

Several people shot them looks, but Hope smiled easily at him. "Sure was! Diane thinks it'll be a good project for me, working on it…but I think that's just her way of keeping me from attempting dangerous magic." Hope hadn't told Diane about attempting the Letum Ultima, but Quinn had and Diane hadn't been impressed and knew Hope well enough to know she would try again.

George arched an eyebrow and Hope grinned sheepishly. "Well, she's not totally wrong to think that," she grumbled to herself and George laughed, pressing a kiss to her brow, knowing there was something more going on.

"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley said. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

"No," Mr. Diggory assured him, sounding a little relieved, "the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," said Mr. Diggory. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley said, nodding his head in agreement. "Yes, it's a minute off ... We'd better get ready..." He turned towards Hermione and Hope who were the only ones of the very large group that had never dealt with a portkey. "You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do—"

"What's he talking about?" Hope muttered to George, but he didn't have time to answer her as they were running low on time and within moments the group had crowded around a manky old boot in the middle of the field.

Hope and Hermione, though thoroughly confused, did as the others did and pressed a finger to the boot. The look Hermione gave her told her: "Am I the only one who thinks this is very strange?"

Hope merely rolled her eyes, her lips quirking slightly upwards.

"Three…two…one…"

Hope almost lost her grip as something tugged her around the middle as the boot shot into the air taking the nine wizard-folk far away from Ottery St. Catchpole to travel miles upon miles away only for her to slam into the ground once they reached their destination in a matter of seconds.

Hope groaned, her voice muffled in the grass. "This is the worst possible way to travel." But she still pulled herself up and into an upright position as a clear voice said: "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."

Hope blinked a few times, her vision still a little blurry from the speed that they had been moving at, to stare at the field which had suddenly shifted at a moor that was covered in a light mist that could be easily seen through. And then she had to stifle her laughter with Hermione at the three wizards that had met them, because their attempts to blend in with Muggles had left them hopelessly mismatched. It was as if they had been dressed by a child.

Mr. Weasley spoke to the one that was wearing a rather loose kilt paired horribly with a poncho. "Morning, Basil."

The man said nothing for a moment, taking that time to receive the boot that they had used a Portkey and toss it into a box with a number of miscellaneous items that must have been Portkeys as well.

"Hello there, Arthur," the man named Basil said, his voice matching his face in tiredness. Hope had to wonder how early the man had been up because he looked to be on the brink of falling asleep where he stood. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of the way; we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite...Weasley...Weasley..." He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts." He glanced to Mr. Diggory and his son before looking at the parchment once more. "Diggory...second field...ask for Mr. Payne."

So, the Weasleys set off in the direction that Basil had said and Hermione piped up, "Er, Mr. Weasley, is the site manager a Muggle or a wizard?"

"Oh, he's a Muggle," Mr. Weasley said with a fond smile.

"Then perhaps Hope and I should do the talking," she offered, knowing how prone the man was to slip up around Muggles because of he often was around her own parents. He wasn't very subtle, to say the least.

"You're probably right," Mr. Weasley agreed, his ears burning a light shade of red as Hope took the money from him, "The tent are under Weasley, they were only booked a few days ago."

"Right-o," Hope said, screwing her eyes a little so that her hair darkened to the same color as Hermione with slightly more controlled curls and eyes the exact shade of brown as her friend's. Hermione grinned as it appeared as though they were siblings.

"Shall we, sister?" Hope asked with a quirked eyebrow as she offered her elbow.

Hermione beamed. "We shall." They ignored the laughter that echoed behind them as they yanked Ginny along for the ride despite her protests as they strode up to a middle-aged man who was standing at a table that had a number of papers being held down by some heavy rocks so they wouldn't blow away in the wind.

"Morning!" Hermione called to him as they came to a stop in front of him.

"Morning," the man said, failing to hide a yawn, looking as tired as the three clothing-confused wizards from before.

"Are you Roberts?" Hope asked, as forward as ever.

Mr. Roberts looked up in surprise to see that it was a trio of girls asking the questions. Two looked remarkably similar, sisters no doubt, but the third couldn't be more different with her ginger hair. "That's me," he said, "may I help you ladies?"

"We're here for a tent booked under Weasley," Hope said, pulling the money from her pocket, "how much do we owe you?"

Mr. Roberts glanced behind, possibly trying to ascertain where her parents were with her.

Hope cleared her throat. "My sister and I are here with my cousin's family," she said, nodding towards Ginny, hoping that would clear it up, "now, how much do we owe you?"

Mr. Roberts quoted the price still staring at her as if she was the strangest thing he had seen and Hope was quick to hand over the appropriate notes to the Muggle who quickly avoided her eyes as he took the money and went searching for some change. She knew that people said she had intense eyes, but still…

"Never been this crowded," Mr. Roberts said, glancing behind him where Hope, Hermione, and Ginny could see hundreds of tents already set up. "Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up... People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdoes, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and a poncho."

"Is he not supposed to?" Ginny asked, a little flummoxed. Hope could tell that Muggle fashion was still rather strange to her.

"It's like some sort of...I dunno...like some sort of rally," he said, still lost in thought. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

None of the three had any time to come up with an appropriate response to that when a loud crack echoed through the air as a wizard appeared rather suddenly, no doubt through Apparition.

 _"Obliviate!"_ the man said, pointing his wand at the Muggle, making a blank and dreamy expression appear on the man's face, reminding Ginny of her friend Luna a little too much.

Both Hope and Hermione couldn't help but scowl fiercely at the man. Both girls had rather bad experiences with memory modification. Hope's was mainly because Gilderoy Lockhart had tried to erase her memories back in second year, but had unfortunately missed, due to Ron's wand backfiring on him instead, while Hermione's was just because Lockhart had used his memory charms as a way to steal other witches and wizards work and sell it as his own, which was practically the death sentence in Hermione's eyes.

"A map of the campsite for you," Mr. Roberts said, his voice soft and calm, seeming to be in a bit of a day dream. "And your change."

"Thank you…" Hermione said, feeling a little disjointed.

"Come on," Hope tugged on her arm, the disapproval clear on her face as the three walked back to the group.

* * *

"Hey, guys!"

Hope, Hermione, and Ron had gone off to get some water and Hope blinked as a boy decked in green approached them. "Oh, hey, Seamus."

Seamus grinned, displaying his country's colors proudly before holding out a book to Hope. "This is for you."

Hope took it, a bit bemused. "What's this?"

"The reason Dean's been radio-silence all summer, I'm guessing," Seamus shrugged, eyes gleaming. "He's kinda been a coward about when and how to give it to you."

Hope looked down at the cover with a simple raven sketched with wings outstretched. She opened it silently with her friends at her shoulders, swallowing thickly at the pictures Dean had carefully, studiously drawn. So many pieces of her life...Nath reading to her while she lay in the hospital bed; Nath teaching a determined child how to shoot, bruised and broken as she was; meeting Quinn and Diane; George catching her as she fell through the air; Hope, Hermione, and Ron with their arms around each other beaming; Dean and Hope falling asleep together watching Star Wars; Dean grinning at her side; Hope meditating with Quinn, an eye open; Hope sleeping next to Nath in the hospital with Dean passed out in an uncomfortable chair;...and one Hope didn't know. Dean kneeling on the ground, his sketchbook and pencil in hand, tongue sticking out while someone stood behind him, back to his back. A girl with snakeskin jacket and a black knife in one hand, tilting her head over her shoulder to throw a determined stare with a smirk.

Was that how Dean saw her? Someone he trusted to cover his undefended back with weapons in the stead of magic?

At the bottom of the page was a title unlike the others: _Brother's Keeper._

Hope didn't realize she'd started crying until her eyesight became blurry.

_"Is it all right if I call you my brother?"_

"Oh, crap! Sorry, Hope! I just, um, well—"

Hope glared at Dean furiously, having to lean her head back because he'd grown yet again. "You utter bastard!" she snarled and Dean recoiled sharply only for her to throw her arms around him, her shoulders shaking. "You're the _worst_ brother I'll ever have!" she muffled into his chest.

And Dean relaxed, wrapping his arms around her, leaning his cheek on the top of her head. "Did you get shorter?" he asked instead, making Ron snigger and Hermione sigh in amusement as Hope pulled back to wipe at her eyes.

"Just because you can grow a foot in a few months doesn't mean we all can," Hope retorted, miffed, eyes black where they weren't red. Dean thought it suited her more than the green.

Dean smiled. "Love you too."

And her smile made it worth it.

* * *

"You've been ages."

Hope jumped violently at the sound of George's voice, almost losing her grip on her saucepan full of water and the photo album of sketches that Dean had given her.

"Sorry," George said quickly, taking the water from her with a wink, "let me help before you spill the rest of your water."

Hope crooked a finger at him. "Come back here, baby," she said sweetly, "so I can kick your ass."

"I'd love to oblige—"

"You've not got that fire started yet?" Ron asked, ignoring his brother and his best mate as best as he could.

"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred with a snort.

They all turned to stare at Mr. Weasley where he was standing inside a circle of matches, saying "Oops!" every time he managed to light a match only to drop it.

Hermione sighed. "I'll handle this," she said striding over to the man and showing him how to light a match without dropping it.

"What do you think of the tent?" Fred asked his twin's girlfriend, noting how she was still gazing around at it in wonder.

"It's very impressive," she said, arching her neck back in an attempt to see it all completely. The drapes were gold and silver hanging loosely against the walls, there was a small sitting room with worn sofas as well as a small dining room. The bedroom towards the back had bunk beds and had been claimed by the girls, while the bedroom off to the side had been forced upon the boys, to the girls' mirth. "I've never seen anything like it…well, not including my trunk, I guess." She dug out the small pocket mirror that Angelina had given her the last year for her birthday and handed it over to Fred who blinked and stared.

"Er-I don't—"

"It's so you can talk to Angelina," Hope said, rolling her eyes, "believe me, you don't _need_ a mirror." She tossed it to him and he struggled to catch it, but the smile on his face made it worth it as he moved towards the semi-privacy of the boys' bedroom.

"Thanks for that," George whispered into her ear, wrapping an arm around her waist, his hand cupping her hip.

Hope shrugged her shoulders, bumping slightly against his chest as she did so. "I missed you when I was in Greece, and Angie definitely feels the same way about Fred." Of course, Hope and George didn't need nearly as much constant validation to keep their relationship strong.

"Definitely?" George asked with a grin.

Hope twisted slightly so she could tangle her fingers into her hair, smiling sweetly. "It must be that infamous Weasley charm."

"Must be…" George murmured, bending his head to brush his lips lightly against hers, parting quickly as Ginny moved past, throwing Hope a significant glance as she did so.

"Or it might be because you are very attractive," Hope added with a saucy wink, leaning upwards to kiss him firmly for a few seconds before parting completely from him. "Maybe we should save this until we get to school and have some privacy."

George gave a low groan of disappointment, making her flush a pale pink as she rejoined her friends where they were out with Mr. Weasley who was telling them who some of the people were that walked past them and what their job was. It seemed to bore Ron, but Hermione was listening intently.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office...Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now...Hello, Arnie...Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator –member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know...and that's Bode and Croaker...they're Unspeakables..."

"What're Unspeakables?" Hope asked, hijacking the conversation.

"Oh, they're from the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to," Mr. Weasley said, though it left her a bit confused, even as she watched his eldest three sons meander around tents to reach theirs.

Fred rejoined the group soon after, his cheeks a little pink from his conversation with Angelina, but much happier than he had been when the day had first started out. He handed over the small mirror to Hope.

"Do you mind if I borrow that to talk to her later on?" he asked her, not really expecting her to deny him, but being polite nonetheless.

"Sure," Hope said easily, sparing him a smile, "besides, she'd probably fancy talking to you more than me."

Fred couldn't help but laugh as well. "It's my charm."

"Must be inherited," she commented with an arched eyebrow, nodding towards George. "Oh, and we've decided to tone it down about in your presence so you don't feel too uncomfortable." Not that there was honestly much to tone down.

"It would take a lot to make me uncomfortable, Hope," he said, rolling his eyes, "but thanks anyways."

She tried hard not to smirk at that as Percy, Charlie, and Bill finally reached them.

"Just Apparated, Dad," said Percy, his eyes directed towards his brothers, but while Ron gazed on enviously, George only rolled his eyes. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

"Yeah, you're welcome," Hope added in a cool tone, balancing the plate of eggs and sausage on her hand, "Ginny, Hermione, and I cooked that, so maybe a thank you wouldn't hurt." She cocked an eyebrow at Percy whose ears reddened and he gave a quick apology, to which Hope offered him the plate, sharing a grin with Hermione and Ginny behind his back while Ron stifled his laughter.

"Enjoy," Hope said sweetly and George resisted the urge to flat out kiss her completely in front of his whole family as they all settled down into their lunch, but it seemed as though Hope had hardly eaten two sausages and a spoonful of eggs when Mr. Weasley called out "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo just so happened to be someone known as Ludo Bagman who was apparently an important person in the ministry, being the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and clearly he hadn't gotten the memo of not drawing any attention to the Wizarding folk, because he was wearing rather obvious bright yellow and black robes that depicted a large wasp. He wasn't very impressive to Hope's eyes, but, then, she was being rather biased towards George, as always.

"Ahoy there!" he cried as loped over to them, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, practically oozing excitement as if he was absorbing to from the surrounding area and people. "Arthur, old man, what a day, eh? _What a day!_ Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming...and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements...Not much for me to do!"

Hermione tossed Hope an irritated look, and it didn't take much for Hope to guess why. He was saying that there wasn't much for him to do, yet his robes were drawing attention from Muggles and there were frequent and obvious uses of magic going on around that he seemed blind to. A firework had gone off ten minutes ago and had yet to disperse, a few witches had used their wands to create a number of pale doves that were flying perpetually in a circle, and someone had started a magical fire the color of lavender that shot off sparks every few seconds.

"Not very focused, is he?" Hermione muttered in a low voice making Ron roll his eyes in good nature to his friend.

"You think he could catch everything?" Ron said, only slightly defensive.

"No," Hope amended, "but this is flat out ridiculous." She almost missed Mr. Weasley introducing them all, only tuning in at the last second.

"—and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Hope Potter."

Hope was used to the stares and cared for them even less.

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley said, speaking with a bright grin, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets—"

But Bagman just shook off the compliment. "Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur? I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first –I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years –and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."

"Eel Farm?" Hope mouthed to Ron who had to duck to hide his laughter.

"Any takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," Mr. Weasley said, his voice a little nervous, "Molly wouldn't like—"

Apparently counting very quickly, Fred spoke, "We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts that Ireland wins –but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

Hope actually let out a small laugh at that, unable to restrain herself. Percy may have been channeling his mother's disapproval, but Hope was nowhere near, finding it all quite humorous. You wouldn't catch her gambling, she wasn't much of a gambler to begin with, but Fred and George were planning on opening up a business, so anything helped, and she was all for that.

She didn't like Bagman much, even watching as he took the fake wand from Fred, giving it a quick wave and exploding with laughter as it transformed into a rubber chicken. She wasn't quite sure where they had come up with the idea, but she suspected their father had once taken them to Muggle magic shop because some of their designs seemed to originate from some basic magic tricks she'd seen in store windows as a child.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!" Bagman cried, but Hope couldn't help but hear a false ring in his voice.

Mr. Weasley was both unimpressed and a little worried. " _Boys,"_ he said with a soft, almost unperceivable, sigh, "I don't want you betting…That's all your savings…Your mother—"

 _Would doubtlessly not approve_ , but when had Fred or George ever followed what she had wanted? They were as much free spirits as Hope was, and that was saying something.

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Arthur!" Bagman chided lightly, beaming brighter than the sun. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance...I'll give you excellent odds on that one...We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

It was only after he had taken their names down in his little notebook and given each twin a slip of parchment for which they could use to collect their riches should their wager actually end up coming true, that he turned his eyes onto Hope Potter.

Of course, everyone knew the tale of the Girl-Who-Lived. Being the only child of a Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House, she was considered nobility, despite having a Muggle-born for a mother (not that Ludo had anything against that, it was just the way the Ancient Houses worked). She certainly didn't look like much and didn't look like she was an heiress, dressed simply, hair tangled up into a high bun, unnerving green eyes fixed on him.

But it was not her appearance that caught him the most, it was her wealth. It was a well-known fact that the Heir Potter owned several vaults through her father's ancient line and the gold was all that Bagman desired.

"And what about you, Miss Potter?"

Her eyes met his and immediately he knew she would not be someone to easily swindle, but he could not resist, she was a gold mine after all. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, not enough for the man to notice, but her friends were far too used to her nonverbal cues to not take it into account.

Instead, she merely gave him a disarming smile. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Bagman," she said simply, "I never gamble my money, only my life."

 _Touché_. Bagman had to concede for the time being, perhaps another time he would manage to grab some of that gold he sought from her when she wasn't looking.

* * *

"You know, you look rather good in green?" George gave Hope a roguish grin as he watched her tie an Irish scarf around her neck.

She gave him a wry smile. "It's been said."

"Hang on, who's been saying—"

But she only laughed, hardly heard over the loud cheering of the stadium as they sat in their seats waiting for the game to begin. The stadium was awing to the eye, Hope had to admit as she looked about. She had never seen anything quite so big in all of her life; it easily outdid the Quidditch stadium at Hogwarts.

Her eyes fell onto the small house-elf that was sitting with a pair of empty seats beside them. Initially, Hope had mistaken her for Dobby, the house-elf that had formerly belonged to the Malfoy family before she had set it free at the end of her second year. It was understandable, given the androgynous appearances that house-elves tended to have with only slight differences between genders. It was clear from the brief conversation with Winky -her name, as they had found out- that she thought Dobby would have done better if had just stayed with the Malfoys, even with the abuse but Hope couldn't agree. It would be like telling her to stay with the Dursleys after she reached majority. That would be literal _hell._

(Not that Hope was staying with them anymore, but that was for the best, if you asked her and not Mrs. Weasley or Dumbledore)

"We can switch seats with Bill and Charlie," George added, noticing how her eyes had fallen on the house-elf.

Hope spared him a smile. "Don't worry about it," she said, "it's just the way that she talked…Dobby wasn't quite like that." They both had to quiet themselves as Bagman pulled his wand free and pointed it to his throat, saying, _"Sonorous!"_

"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome!" He called over all of them, his voice reverberating around them as it bounced across the stadium. "Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

Hope cheered with the Weasleys and Hermione, though her cheering was far more enthusiastic than her friend's, but then Hermione had always spent more Quidditch matches worrying about her than actually just enjoying the match.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

Hope peered intently through her Omnioculars as the Bulgarian mascots entered the field and she was surprised to find that their mascots were about a hundred young women.

"Ah, Veela!" she heard Mr. Weasley say off to the side, so that must have been what they were. Hope had never seen anything like them. They were obviously very beautiful, that much Hope could tell quite easily. There was also something very alluring about their appearance in how their white-gold hair was rustled gently by the wind and their skin would shine as if starlight had been brushed onto them. There was something distinctly…unearthly about them.

But it became clear that whatever the Veela were, they had a larger effect on the men rather than the women. Fred and George were both rubbing circles into their foreheads as if they were overcome with an intense headache, and Ron seemed on the verge of standing up, though the dazed expression told Hope he was more confused than anything else.

"Are you all right?" Hope asked with concern, leaning so she could be more easily heard by George as she interlocked their fingers.

He spared her a smile, kissing her cheek fondly. "Don't worry about it," he said, "it's just a dizzy spell."

"All right," Hope conceded, though she could see it clearly wasn't. The faster they danced, the more confused Ron seemed to become until he was actually standing up with a rather flummoxed look on his face.

"Ron, what are you doing?" Hermione demanded, taking hold of one of his arms while Hope grabbed the other as they forced him back into his seat amidst laughter from his brothers.

Hope snapped her fingers in front of her eyes, making the lanky boy blink a few times, trying to clear the fog that had covered his eyes.

"Huh?" he said, still muddled. "What happened?"

"Some enchantment, I'm guessing," Hope said in a tone of amusement as the Veela ceased their dancing.

Hermione made a noise of irritation that Hope could hardly hear. _"Honestly!"_ she said as if he was a young child that needed to be closely monitored.

"And now, kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

The next second Hope was blinded by something quite reminiscent of a green and gold comet that burst through to the stadium and then to circle around the stadium before then breaking into two smaller green and gold comets that spun off in opposite directions to encircle the goal posts on each end a few times.

Hope joined in the applause when a rainbow appeared, joining the two together, laughing as it transformed into a massive shamrock that was far larger than anything Hope had ever seen. She was a bit bemused as gold galleons rained down on them from the shamrock, even as Ron forced a few coins into her hand, paying her back for purchasing the Omnioculars for him earlier.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," Bagman said, clearing his throat loudly, "kindly welcome- the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you –Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand –Krum!"

One by one, Quidditch players donning the scarlet robes of Bulgaria shot out into the free air, some did a few tricks, one in particular, the Seeker, it must have been, actually flipped his lower body off of the broom, holding on with only his hands. Hope couldn't help but watch in fascination.

"I get the feeling that you're going to want to try that move as soon as possible," George commented dryly beside her.

"Nah," Hope said, tossing her hand carelessly. "I'm reckless enough." It was a bad joke and she knew it, but George didn't say anything about it as she brought her Omnioculars back up to her eyes, fiddling with the dials.

"And now, please greet –the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand –Lynch!"

Seven players swept onto the playing field, only they were wearing green. Hope was slightly put out that none of the Irish players were willing to partake in dangerous stunts…ah, well, you get what you get.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

It took the Chairwizard a surprising amount of time to make his way out and onto the field and release the four balls and give the sharp whistle that instigated the beginning of the game as each player surged after their prospective ball.

"Theeeeeeeey're OFF!" screamed Bagman. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

Watching for the Quaffle wasn't nearly as fun as searching for the Snitch or watching the Beaters batter the Bludgers back and forth between them. The Bulgarian Beaters in particular were quite aggressive. They reminded her a little of the Slytherin Beaters, only not quite as underhanded as they were; the match had nothing to do with the House rivalry that often took place on the Quidditch field (at least, during the Gryffindor-Slytherin match).

Vulchanov gave a vicious smack to the Bludger closest to him, sending it spinning in the direction of the Irish Keeper, Barry Ryan, who had to roll on his broom to avoid it. A smirk wormed its way onto Hope's lips as she closed in briefly on the Keeper, taking note of his crimson face and the fist he was shaking in the direction of Vulchanov, both exchanging some rude hand gestures that Hope might want to use on a later date. She twisted the dials quickly, bringing it back up to speed as she focused on Moran briefly as he dodged wildly in an effort to avoid the barrage of Bludgers that Vulchanov and Volkov threw his way, but one of the Bludgers grazed him across the ribcage.

"Ooh…" Hope winced sympathetically behind her Omnioculars. That had to _sting,_ but it was still better than having a few broken ribs for his trouble. Hope would know all about that.

Luckily for Moran, the injury didn't seem too substantial because he was back in action within a matter of minutes after taking the appropriate time to gauge just how much of his limbs he could still completely use. And then he was back in the game, flying ahead of Mullet before doubling back suddenly and feinting, tossing the Quaffle to Troy, who ducked under Ivanova. But then he had to drop the Quaffle to avoid a Bludger, thus giving Bulgaria possession through Levski.

Levski almost ran head long into Moran in his effort to remain focused on the Quaffle, so he barely caught it. It was lucky for Ireland, then, because Troy had taken his loss of concentration on everything but the ball and had used his fist to punch it right out of his hands, catching it once it was in the free air and racing off towards the goal posts, ducking past the Keeper easily to score the first goal of the game.

"TROY SCORES! Ten-zero to Ireland!" Bagman hooted with excitement as Troy flew a few laps around the stadium at the small victory, but it must not have been quite as small in the big leagues as it was during school.

Hope put down her Omnioculars briefly so that she could join in with Hermione and Ron who had leapt up once the points had been scored, cheering loudly and brightly. She didn't think that she had ever been so excited about a Quidditch match before.

The game progressed rather quickly after that first goal, but that didn't mean that it didn't go well into the night, because it certainly did. Hope's eyes could hardly keep track as the Quaffle passed from Chaser to Chaser and as Bludgers made contact with bats as the Beaters moved to block the hits from their fellows. Before hardly any time had passed, Ireland had scored twice more, being up now by thirty points and resulting in some very surly red-clad fans.

Hope watched with avid fascination as the game progressed into a much more serious replication of one of the Gryffindor-Slytherin matches that she had played in, because she could compare nothing else to how vicious the Bulgarians were becoming, especially the Beaters. Hope winced every time they struck the Bludgers with their bats as if she could hear the sound of the crack when they connected.

When the Bulgarians finally scored their first goal, the Veela had to celebrate, but the boys listened to their father this time around, deafening the sound by stuffing their fingers into their ears. Hope tapped George's knee when the coast was clear, smiling behind her Omnioculars, the Veela having no effect on her.

Dimitrov of Bulgaria was in possession. He passed to Levski, who passed it back to Dimitrov, who then passed to Ivanova, who– _oh!_

Hope aimed her Omnioculars away from the Bulgarian Chasers, because at that moment, Seekers Krum and Lynch had plunged into a deep vertical dive that Hope would have never been able to pull off. At least, not with a good deal of practice before hand to keep her from snapping her neck. Hope's eyes went to the ground, but there was no Snitch—

"They're going to crash!" screamed Hermione, her shrill tone echoing in Hope's ears.

However, only Lynch actually connected with the ground, as Krum had pulled up at the last second, leaving him virtually unscathed if not for the windburn they had both undoubtedly gained for going at break-neck speeds. It was a very impressive feint.

"It's time-out!" Bagman called over the noise, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"Hey, Hope?"

"Hm?" The pair of Omnioculars perched on Hope's nose as she turned her face towards Fred made her look a little like Trelawney with her over-large glasses.

"Do me a favor and don't ever try that," he said seriously, leaning over his brother so she could hear him. "I don't think George could survive the heart attack."

"Oh, shut up, Freddie!"

Hope grinned behind the Omnioculars. "I'll keep it in mind."

Hope wouldn't be trying that move, though, no matter how beautiful and deadly it was, it required a certain skill with the broom, that much Hope could see quite clearly, and it was a skill that she had yet to achieve in the air. But Viktor Krum was clearly a natural; it looked almost as if he didn't even need a broomstick.

She twisted a few dials, focusing in on Krum, smirking when she saw how he was scanning the area with his eyes, using the time to look for the Snitch. "Oh, he is _good…"_

"Who?" George asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Krum…how good is he, do you think, compared to the Seekers of the other teams?" she asked, withdrawing the Omnioculars to actually look her boyfriend in the face.

George's eyes grew distant as he thought. "Er…probably the best…why?"

"Just wondering," Hope sang, giving him a bright smile as she curled one of his loose fiery locks behind his ear. "Do you know how cute you look when you're thinking?" She dutifully ignored the sound of Ron's groan on her other side.

George's smile was close to a smirk, but his pink cheeks ruined (or made, depending on your point of view, Hope supposed) the picture. "Yeah?"

Hope sniggered, settling the Omnioculars onto her eyes once more, her smirk widened when he ducked to kiss her cheek lightly.

In a matter of fifteen minutes after Lynch had returned to the game, Ireland had scored enough goals to be leading by a hundred and twenty points ahead of Bulgaria. Unfortunately, as it often was with an intense game like Quidditch, the more one team pulled ahead, the more fouls took place, and the more injuries occurred. This became clear when Mullet streaked towards the goal posts only to be spun off course by Zograf using a move that Hope had never seen a Keeper use before, but she only caught about half of it, they were just moving so fast, too fast for her to see.

The piercing whistle announced the foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing –excessive use of elbows!" Bagman yelled. "And –yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

Hope did her best to ignore the team mascots who were now seeming to be having a bit of a match of their own, making fun of each other from opposite sides of the field. It was…pretty ugly…and the Veela had seemed to have done something to influence Hassan Mostafa, the referee.

Hermione had been reduced to giggles at the sight of the man jumping off of his broom to stand before the Veela smoothing his moustache and flexing his nonexistent muscles as if they were something to behold.

"Now, we can't have that! Somebody slap the referee!" Bagman cried through his laughter.

Hope and Hermione laughed with the rest of the Weasleys as one of the mediwizards that had assisted Lynch earlier came pelting across the field to knee the man rather painfully in the shin. Mostafa fell to the ground clutching at his probably throbbing leg before stumbling into a standing position and shouting angrily at the Veela…and they didn't look too pleased with him either.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" Bagman called. "Now there's something we haven't seen before...Oh this could turn _nasty..."_

Hope shook her head and laughed, turning her attention towards the game once more.

"Two penalties for Ireland!" shouted Bagman, and anger seemed to practically vibrate from the Bulgarian fans located around the stadium. "And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms...yes...there they go...and Troy takes the Quaffle..."

Hope winced briefly behind the Omnioculars as Moran was nearly thrown off her broom by Dimitrov, causing the Irish-fans to demand for a foul.

"Foul!" Bagman agreed with them. "Dimitrov skins Moran– deliberately flying to collide there– and it's got to be another penalty– yes, there's the whistle!"

Hope stared in awe at the anger of the Veela. She had never seen anything like it, but they had changed in their anger. Hope was used to this, being a metamorphmagus, her appearance often shifted on impulse when her rage reached astronomical levels, but this, this was something else entirely. Their mesmerizing faces had warped and elongated, giving him an appearance that would have been more closely related to a bird (making her think of Sirens from Greek myths with the faces of beautiful women and the bodies of birds that could entice sailors to their deaths…) and they seemed to be throwing fire across the pitch to the leprechauns.

"Whoa!" Ron said, stunned. He lifted his eyes to stare at Hope. "You don't do that too, do you?"

Hope rolled her eyes with a snort.

"And that, boys, is why you should never go for looks alone!" Mr. Weasley yelled to his sons as the whole group watching in fascination as the Ministry workers attempted to separate the team mascots with little avail.

"Levski– Dimitrov– Moran– Troy– Mullet– Ivanova– Moran again– Moran– MORAN SCORES!"

Hope lifted her eyes from the fascinating competition going down between the Veela and the leprechauns in time to see Quigley give a savage swing at the Bludger, sending it rocketing in Krum's direction. Without the appropriate time to duck, Krum was hit flat in the face.

An "Ooh!" of sympathy rippled through the crowd.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him—"

"Look! Lynch!" Hope cried out suddenly as the Irish Seeker had gone into a steep dive, intent on the Snitch that could barely be seen where it was close to the ground. It was only then that the crowd seemed to realize what exactly was happening, and the Irish fans had begun to cheer anew, even as Krum sped after him until he was matching his speed as they drew nearer and nearer to the ground, closer and closer to the Snitch.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione shrieked, clutching at her face hard enough to leave nail indentations in her cheeks.

"They're not!" Ron yelled over the noise.

"Lynch is!" Hope disagreed. They all had to wince as Lynch collided with the ground for the second time that game, but Hope's eyes replayed the few movements leading up to the crash on her Omnioculars, seeing how Krum snagged the Snitch just a few seconds before Lynch slipped off his broom and crashed into the grass.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, having missed the catch without the use of the Omnioculars.

"It's Krum!" Hope yelled, leaping up to cheer at the spectacular catch, not at all caring that he hadn't been on the team that she had been cheering on the whole time. "Krum caught it!" A small figure in red robes could be seen dismounting onto the grass with his fist raised high; Hope recognized it as the same move she did every time she caught the Snitch (perhaps it was a Seeker thing).

Ron burst out into laughter. "Check out the scoreboard!"

Hope did, and she couldn't help but laugh as well. The finally total was Bulgaria with one hundred and sixty points and Ireland with one hundred and seventy points. Ireland had won but Krum had caught the Snitch. What a load of bad luck for the Bulgarians, eh?

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, sounding about as stunned by the victor and the end of the match as everyone in the stadium. Hope doubted anyone had seen that coming.

"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH –BUT IRELAND WINS– good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"I think you and Fred need to try for the Divination position once you graduate," Hope yelled to George as he and Fred did a little happy dance that one could only do if they were about to get paid.

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron roared, jumping up and down with a beaming smile on his face. "He ended it when Ireland was a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

Hope shook her head and laughed.

* * *

Honestly, Dean didn't plan to get separated in the chaos, or get knocked out, but Hope's bad luck had apparently rubbed off on him. At first Dean had thought it was the Irish really getting their pride on, like Seamus, completely out of control, before Mrs. Finnigan forced them out of the tent quickly and told them to run for the clearing.

There was fire, and people being levitated, and shouting and Dean had lost track of Seamus, and then someone had pushed him and he'd tripped and must've hit something, because the next thing he knew, he was blinking around in confusion, surrounded by a blue haze.

"You can always tell when you've made it to the Etheric Realm," he remembered Quinn saying once to Hope. "It's a realm of memory and it's easy to get lost in there…your emotions can become your reality; your fears haunt every step. It can be a peaceful place, but only for the most tranquil."

"Hello?" Dean called cautiously, his hands out as if afraid he'd run into the side of a tree, or something like that…but when he thought of Quinn's Etheric Realm, he'd honestly pictured an actual realm, with trees and streams and sunlight illuminating.

A woman stepped through the smoke and Dean balked. "Hope?"

She certainly looked like Hope. Long red hair tangled into a dangling plait, sharp green eyes, but that was where the likeness ended. This woman had a tall, loping grace that Hope would never possess -she might've been as fleeting as a shadow, but her steps were careful not graceful-, and she had no scars carved into her brow or runes carved into her hands and wrists. But the likeness was so uncanny that Dean would've thought he was looking at Hope a few years from now.

And she was striding towards the Blood-Soaked Tree, her shoulders tensed. Then she pressed her palms into the bark, her entire body glowing and released a blood-curdling scream.

No way could that had been Hope, Dean realized. Hope never screamed. Not _once._

He stumbled as he tripped backwards and when he opened his eyes it was to a cluster of school friends around him.

"You all right?" Seamus asked while Hope probed the back of his head with Hermione and Ron crouching over him in concern. "Did someone knock you out?"

Dean grimaced. "Think I just tripped, actually."

Ron snorted and Hermione elbowed him but Hope and Seamus seized his arms and pulled him upright.

"Can you walk?" Hope asked, frowning. She was always better in a crisis. "Because I'm already down a wand."

Dean and Seamus gaped. "You're _kidding!"_

Hope didn't seem too concerned.

"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" Hermione muttered, frowning around at the abandoned campsite, tents still up, the smell of burnt tarp and grass hanging in the air. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just —"

"Shh!" Hope hissed suddenly, clamping a hand over her and Ron's mouth for good measure. Both Seamus and Dean froze.

"What is it?" Ron whispered through her fingers.

"There's someone moving out there!" Hope hissed, her eyes filtering from green to a solid black as they narrowed.

Her eyes were better than theirs, because they saw nothing and heard even less.

"It could be Dad looking for us," Ron whispered back heatedly.

"Then wouldn't he have been calling our names by now?" Hope asked, to which her only answer was silence. She stood up. "I'm going to go check it out."

But she was dragged back down by both of Ron and Hermione's arms.

"Are you mental?" Ron demanded.

"It could be a Death Eater!" Hermione hissed, and they all jolted where they were crouching when a voice pierced through the night.

" _MORSMORDRE!"_

Dean's eyes reflected the green flash that shot across the sky, both him and Hope flinching hard, remembering all too well the last flash of green that had sent them crashing into the ground. Her grip on his arm tightened.

But it wasn't the Killing Curse. This spell caused the night sky above them to twist and shift into an image Hope had seen only in books that covered Voldemort's reign of terror. It was a skull, a massive one with a snake protruding from its mouth.

The forest behind them exploded into screams at its sight.

"Okay, now we should really leave," Hermione insisted, tugging on Ron and Seamus before dragging Hope and Dean backwards. "Come on, move!"

However, they hardly had time to comply to her demands before twenty wizards popped into existence, surrounding them in a circle, wands drawn.

 ** _"SHIELD_**!" Hope didn't have a chance to think, throwing her arms out, one of the runes carved into her palms glowing faintly before erecting an opaque barrier between all of them and the spells fired on them.

"Why're they shooting at us?!" Seamus demanded, arms over his head.

"'Cause they're morons," Hope seethed, wincing at the barrage of spells that cracked her barrier before rippling and smoothing away.

"Stop! STOP! That's my son!"

Hope almost melted in relief, her shield dropping, as she finally made out Mr. Weasley's thinning mop of ginger hair as he approached them, jostling a few wizards to the side in his haste to reach them.

"Ron– Hope– Hermione- are you all right?" He sounded out of breath and unsteady after the events of the past few seconds.

"Yeah," Ron said quickly, "we just came to find Dea—" Dean gave a little wave, but Ron never got to finish, as he was cut off by one of the wizards Mr. Weasley had nudged aside. He was an older man dressed far more impeccably than anyone else in the clearing with short grey hair a bit all over the place in the midst of the chaos and a toothbrush mustache.

Hope bristled at the sight of him, stepping neatly in front of Dean, like he was being threatened, like Hope needed to defend him. She'd been mostly quiet, even after their reunion and Dean was figuring out that her depression was rearing its ugly head.

He couldn't see how her eyes darkened as the man pointed his wand to each of the kids in turn. "Out of the way, Arthur. Which of you did it? Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Seamus goggled.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron added in a sullen voice. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" the man cried, his eyes wild. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

Hope muttered something unsavory under her breath that had Hermione hissing out of the corner of her mouth "Hope, shut up!"

"Barty," said a tired-looking witch, the only other one who seemed to have sense, "they're _kids,_ Barty, they'd never have been able to—"

"Where did the Mark come from, you lot?" Mr. Weasley asked, ignoring Mr. Crouch.

"Over there," Hermione said, gesturing off to a point in front of them. "There was someone behind the trees...they shouted words –an incantation—"

"Oh, stood over there, did they? Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy—" Mr. Crouch turned on Hermione who seemed a bit stunned.

"Back off!" Hope snarled, pushing herself in front of Hermione this time. "Just because you missed something doesn't mean you get to point fingers at us when we were only here because our friend got knocked out in the chaos!"

Dean rubbed the back of his still-tender head, his face feeling hot under the scrutiny. Honestly, how did Hope do it all the time? He just wanted to disappear…but it did make sense why she was always running off at a second's notice.

Hope was the one that patched you up and said "You stay here, I'm gonna go kick some ass". Why put someone at risk for a job you'd do yourself?

 _"Hope,"_ Mr. Weasley warned.

"I can easily snap a wand, is all I'm saying," Hope fired back, fists balled where they were hanging loose at her side. She hadn't reached for a knife yet, though.

"There's someone here!" One of the men who had headed in the direction that Hermione had indicated. "Unconscious! It's– but– blimey..."

"You've got someone? Who? Who is it?"

Hope wasn't the only one whose jaw unhinged as the man returned to the circle of witches and wizards holding their lit wands aloft, carrying the stunned form of the house-elf.

"This-cannot-be," Barty said, his words disconnected. "No—"

"There's no one else there," the second called after him as the man went off to search the place where they had found the house elf, but he ignored him.

"Bit embarrassing," he said to Mr. Weasley, nodding to the elf. "Barty Crouch's house-elf…I mean to say…"

"Come off it, Amos, you don't seriously think it was the elf?" Mr. Weasley inquired in a low voice. "The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand."

"Yeah," Mr. Diggory agreed, "and she had a wand."

"What?" Mr. Weasley said, stunned by that knowledge.

"Here, look." Mr. Diggory held one out for Mr. Weasley to see, but it was too dark for Dean to make out. "Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand."

"Dearie, did you hit your head?" one of the witches asked Dean so suddenly that he jolted and Hope whipped around, fixing narrowed eyes on the wand in her hand.

"He's my brother," she said sharply, apparently liking anyone pointing a wand at Dean about as much as she liked them being aimed at her. "I can take care of him."

And she waited until the wand was withdrawn before pressing a hand to the back of Dean's throbbing head and muttering a single word that made Dean's pain ripple and disappear.

"Thanks," he said, still rubbing at it.

"Seamus, why don't you make your reckless friend sit on that stump over there?"

"Hypocrite," Dean said and Hope bared her teeth.

"I'm older," she said.

"You're _such a liar!_ You're—!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, turning her attention from the squabbling pair to focus on the Ministry officials who had just begun to question the recently roused Winky who was sobbing very heartily at the sight of the Dark Mark still hanging in the sky.

"Elf! Do you know who I am?" Mr. Diggory demanded of the house-elf, making her sob even harder. "I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures! As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago. And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!"

Winky gulped at the air. "I-I-I is not doing it, sir," she said amidst whimpers, "I is not knowing how, sir!"

"You were found with a wand in your hand!" the man snapped, waving said wand in front of her eyes, the light glinting off the wood. She easily recognized the twisted base, darker than the rest of the wand.

"Oh, that's my wand," Hope said, surprised, shifting uncomfortably when all the attention turned back to her once more.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Diggory said, stunned.

"My wand," Hope said, slowly annunciating, "I must have lost it—"

"You lost it? Is this a confession? You lost it after you conjured the Mark?"

The look Hope gave him was short of incredulous.

"Amos, think who you're talking to!" Mr. Weasley bit out. "Is _Hope Potter_ likely to conjure the Dark Mark?"

Mr. Diggory back-pedaled slightly in realization. "Er– of course not. Sorry…carried away…" And then he turned back to Winky, his eyes glittering in the darkness. "So, you found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?"

Hope scowled deeply before turning to Seamus. "Seamus, we should probably get you and Dean back before your mum starts worrying."

"Oh, right," Seamus said, completely enthralled and completely forgetting how they'd all run off to find Dean without a second's notice.

Hope, Hermione, and Ron had lost track of the other Weasleys in the chaos, but she was sure that they were fine, after all, Ron was the one most likely to end up in trouble.

"There you two are," a voice grated and Hope and Dean jumped suddenly, twisting to see Quinn striding towards them, looking very harried and exhausted. They reached out to cup their cheeks, looking them over for any injuries. "You all right?"

"Dean bumped his head," Hope supplied, "but I'm all right."

Dean threw her a betrayed look. "Quinn, I'm fine, really, Hope healed it already."

Quinn turned their head towards Hope with an unreadable expression and Hope scowled.

"Mr. Weasley," they said instead, looking to the man keeping an eye on all the children, "thank you for looking out for my girl, but she and her brother will be spending the remaining week with their mother…Seamus, please inform your mother for me."

"Sure," Seamus said quickly, "but what about—?"

"I've already collected their things," Quinn assured him.

Hope looked back to Ron and Hermione, as surprised and confused as they were. "I guess I'll see you guys on the first," she said helplessly before vanishing in a blip.

_"Dean! Hope!"_

Hope yelped and Dean let out a sound that could've been a squeak, but he'd never admit to it, as Diane came out of nowhere, pulling them into a tight hug before pulling back to look them over.

"We're okay," they said as one, just tired at this point.

"How'd you know to come?" Hope asked Quinn instead.

"Kid, I'm a master magician," Quinn retorted dryly, "and I can astral project better than you will ever dream to."

Hope blinked and then turned red.

"Did I see you and your boy snogging in your potions room?" Quinn smirked. "Who can really say?"

Hope hide her face in her hands. "This family is a _nightmare!"_

"You were snogging your boyfriend in a potions room?" Dean snorted. "Class it up at least."

"Oh, _shut up,"_ Hope snapped. "At least I've got a boyfriend to snog! All you do is make eyes at Daphne Greengrass!"

Dean's blush was so dark it was obvious. "Shut up! _I do not!"_

"Maybe you should offer to carry her books, Dean, maybe _then_ you'll get the nerve to—"

"Why, _you—!"_

Quinn pulled them back in a bit of bemusement before Dean could fail to get Hope in a headlock. "All right kiddos…lets go upstairs and get some sleep, yeah?"

They looked from Quinn to Diane, who quirked an eyebrow. The fight went out of them.

"Yeah, all right," Hope grumbled and Dean yawned widely. "You win… _this time."_

"What was that?"

Hope flipped them off on the way up the stairs.

"Are they really okay?" Diane asked Quinn in concern.

"Yeah, they're fine, Dean got a bump on his head, but he'll be all right," Quinn promised, ducking forward to kiss her lightly. "I'll be back later, babe, get some sleep."

And then they were gone and all Diane could do was sigh.

* * *

Hope was in a forest with so many twists and turns that as soon as she stepped off the little garden path, she'd immediately gotten lost and all she could do was huff in irritation, stepping over roots until she saw someone.

"Hey!" she called, stepping forward and tripping right through him. "Dammit," she grumbled into the ground before rolling over and staring.

Hope knew what her father looked like, but somehow it was startling how young he was. With his olive cheeks, hazel eyes behind rectangular frames, and untamed black hair.

 _"Dad_ ," she whispered.

"He wants the cloak," James was saying, "I don't want to give it to him."

"Why?" Hope realized now there was more than one person there. Lily Potter looked as much like the picture of Adelaide as Hope had originally thought, with her arms around what could only be Hope as an infant. "We're not using it."

James frowned deeply, taking his daughter from his wife, smiling when she babbled in delight. "It's a family heirloom," he said finally, expression darkening, "and I don't like the look he gets when he sees Sirius or I using it."

Hope's brow furrowed and so did Lily's.

"He's our leader," she said quietly.

"Just because Dumbledore is our leader doesn't mean he's above reproach or that he deserves to get everything he asks for," James said with finality. "We're not his little Death Eaters like with Voldemort…if he takes away choice, we're just like them."

Hope's eyes opened and she blinked a few times to right herself, sitting up in her bed and rubbing at her head before looking out the window next to her. It was barely light out but there was still someone standing on the sidewalk below.

It was Sylvar…at least, someone who looked uncommonly like Sylvar, from the hint of her sharp ears to her long black hair and pointed chin. But she was wearing an odd leather vest with a triple spiral crest that looked oddly familiar, a sword strapped at her back.

Hope stared, but then a car drove past and she vanished. Hope flopped back on her bed, rubbing her eyes. She was starting to lose it…maybe Hermione was right about her needing more rest…

Dean let out a snore from the opposite wall and Hope let herself fall back asleep.

* * *

"SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP," Dean read out loud, "well, I guess they're not covering it up."

Hope snorted. "There's always tomorrow, besides, too many people to cover up something that big, right?"

"You'd be surprised," Diane said cryptically into her coffee, "more likely they'll blame it on something other than that Dark Lord that's supposedly dead, people trying to intentionally stir up trouble…maybe even blame the Bulgarians, they're known for their dark magic tendencies."

"Thought you didn't believe that dark magic was a thing?" Dean asked from behind the newspaper.

"It's not," Diane agreed, "all magic can be dark magic if you try hard enough…but supposedly Bulgaria is more known for teaching what's supposedly the dark arts…terrible excuse for magic, if you ask me, absolutely _disgraceful._ I could kill those supposed dark wizards faster than they could curse me, is all I'm saying."

"Wouldn't that mean asking your ex for magic, though?" Hope asked.

_"Oi!"_

Dean said nothing behind the paper and Hope know it was awkward subject, bringing up his other mother. "It's going on about Ministry blunders," he said.

"Big surprise," Hope rolled her eyes.

"Apparently there were no culprits apprehended and lax security—"

"That's likely," Diane snorted.

"Dark wizards running unchecked, oh apparently it's also a national disgrace—"

"That implies that the nation had any honor to begin with," Hope said and Dean glowered at her as Diane coughed on her coffee and Hope swallowed her porridge with a grin. "Don't go by me, I hate this country and its magic…who wrote the article, anyways?"

"Some Skeeter lady—"

Hope had to thickly swallow her porridge. "Rita Skeeter? That asshole still has a job?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess… _why?"_

Hope stuck out her tongue. "She wrote this really crude article on my parents' supposedly 'sudden' engagement, when, really, there was a war going on, of _course_ everyone was getting married right out of Hogwarts, but she did a lot of speculating about why the Lord of an Ancient House was marrying so young and to a woman of lesser class." She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"She thought your mum was pregnant?" Diane asked incredulously. "And decided to publish it in a _newspaper?"_

Hope nodded.

"Bitch," Diane muttered. "Keep your fucking thoughts to yourself."

Hope raised her cup of water. "Cheers to that."

Diane clinked her plastic against Hope's and Dean sniggered before turning back to the paper.

"' _If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged sometime after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'_ Wouldn't they've actually told people if there'd been any deaths, though?" he asked.

"Not if they were muggles and certainly not if they didn't want to cause panic," his mother replied. "If there's one thing you can count on with the British MoM, it's prejudice and secrecy."

She'd never forgiven them for not telling her when Dean had been petrified or when Hope and Dean had been attacked on the way to Hogwarts. And Quinn could barely stand wizards, hence hurrying back to Greece with something akin to exhaustion and a dire need to be around magicians for an extended period of time.

Dean Fogg's husband, Kingsley, had stopped by earlier in the morning to get a statement from Hope -she'd convinced him to leave Dean be, mostly because he'd been knocked out for a while, and also because he'd been sleeping peacefully and Hope didn't have the heart to wake him up- had said no one had died for sure, so there was that.

"Can I go with Hope to Greece next summer?" Dean asked suddenly and Hope swallowed her porridge so fast in her surprise that she choked and Dean and Diane ignored her as she fought to clear her throat, trying not to die at the table.

"Go to Greece? Where most of your sister's time will be spent on classes she takes at Brakebills University? And where you will be left almost completely alone?" Diane asked with an arched eyebrow. "Getting up into who knows what kind of trouble?"

Dean who had clasped his hands together to pout and give her puppy eyes, suddenly scowled. "That's Hope's job!"

 _"Oi!"_ Hope complained but when they both gave her an identical look, she flushed pink and grumbled into her porridge, conceding the point.

"I'll think about it," Diane said finally and Dean's shoulders slumped.

"I hate this family," he complained.

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

Hope, eager for a change in subject. "You know that our school has decided that we need dress robes this year and I'm not allowed to wear a fucking suit?"

And it was enough to violently draw Diane into another reason to hate Hogwarts.

* * *

Hope and Dean didn't have to run to catch the train, or miss it like they had last year -Diane and Quinn had learned from that mistake and had made sure that both kids actually made it _onto_ the train before they'd actually departed-, but it had been a close call for the Weasleys and Hermione.

"Almost missing the train? C'mon, guys," Hope laughed as the pair made it to her compartment long after Dean had separated to search for Seamus (and try not to trip if he saw Daphne Greengrass).

"Shove off." Ron pushed her off her seat and took it for himself, making both girls laugh. "You know George was moping for the past week? Do you have any idea how depressing it is to deal with moping George?" He didn't tell her about how pale he'd been when they'd come back sans Hope, worry clinging to his entire body.

Hope arched an eyebrow. "Reckon a snog'll cheer him up?"

"I'm gonna murder you in your sleep," Ron promised and Hermione giggled.

"Best of luck," Hope cackled. "I'm a light sleeper." Which was to say…she slept very rarely. Even now, she looked exceedingly tired, with grey crescents under her eyes. Hermione and Ron had learned not to comment on it, because it wasn't something they could very well fix. But they did notice she looked paler, too, in fact, she looked like someone that should be having a lie in.

"Are you sticking with black instead of red now?" Hermione asked instead, gesturing at her own hair. Hope raised a hand to tug on the end of the thick plait Quinn had threaded while Dean ran upstairs to grab his extra sketchbook and new pencils that had been Hope's birthday gift to him as Diane called after him to make sure he grabbed his clean underwear (which had made him red-faced and _positively annoyed)._

Diane had wondered about it too, but people always saw her as Lily Potter's daughter first, so Hope figured that she might as well remind people that she was James' too.

"I'm testing it out," she said with hazel eyes bright, "we'll see if I keep it."

And she let herself be pulled into conversation, pretending like deep in her trunk, -in a separate, smaller journal than the one she usually carried- there wasn't a page of initials with dates crossed out with one that remained uncrossed that simply read: C.D. 24/6/1995.

(Not knowing that one day, years upon years ago, Lily Potter had etched 'J.P. 31/10/1981' in a trembling hand)

"Well, there's something happening at Hogwarts," Ron grumbled, "and obviously Percy wanted us to ask so that wasn't happening."

"I can respect that," Hope snorted.

* * *

George, it seemed, had restrained himself from prowling through the train to see his girlfriend, who he hadn't seen or heard from since Quinn apparently showed up to drag her and Dean home after the chaos at the World Cup.

But she was easy to catch sight of on the way up the stairs that led into the Great Hall. Her hair was still black, but a lot of the younger kids stared at her, because they always did, so she was easy to pinpoint in a brief conversation with Professor McGonagall who looked slightly concerned before nodding and pointing towards the stairs that led away from the Great Hall.

George caught up with her easily. "Hey—"

Hope twisted around and almost toppled before he reached a hand out to steady her. She held onto his arm, eyes squeezing shut tightly, counting a few seconds. "Hey," she said after a few moments, "I'm totally fine."

He arched an eyebrow and Hope flaked with a grumble. "It's fine, I'm just probably anemic."

 _"Anemic?"_ George repeated the word carefully.

"I need a blood replenisher," Hope sighed, leaning into him. "Luckily, I know where Poppy's stash is –she's already in the Hall and I'm not bothering her, that's for sure– which is lucky because I left all of mine in Greece, like a _certified dumbass_ , after I downed almost my whole supply- why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, reeling her in closer because he knew she liked it and Hope was so distracted that she almost tripped on a step.

"You've got a pretty face, Georgie, but that's all you've got going for you," she grumbled, pink-cheeked, because he was still looking at her like that, utterly fond, like he always did when she started to ramble.

"Really? My girlfriend thinks I'm rather brilliant," he grinned and Hope rolled her eyes, pushing open the hospital wing doors to stride forward into the back room where Madam Pomfrey kept all the potions. He would've been more impressed that she knew where to look if he hadn't known that she spent a large amount of time in the hospital wing to begin with.

"Ah!" she said suddenly. "Here it is!" She pulled back a bottle of viscous red fluid and raised it to George with a "Cheers!" before promptly downing it like a shot.

She shuddered as it went down. "Okay, let's sit down before I pass out." The potion took a few minutes to kick in…unless you downed several at the same time, which Hope had done over the summer and she wasn't a fan of a repeat. "Did Fred remember the fireworks?"

George snorted, sitting down beside her. "You jest, but he almost forgot them."

 _"No!"_ Hope gasped. "Imagine having to write home asking for the fireworks you left!"

"Yeah, I think Mum would've just burned them…"

Hope looked to him out of the corner of her eye remembering what Mrs. Weasley had been grumbling about the twins the night before they'd left.

_"It's not as though they haven't got brains, but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office…I don't know where we went wrong with them."_

Hope kissed his cheek soundly and George's eyebrows rose in surprise. "What's that for?"

"Because I think you're brilliant, even if your mother doesn't," Hope told him, rubbing a thumb across his cheek.

It brought out a smile and he turned his face slightly cupping her hand in his and pressing a kiss to her palm and looking up at her in a way that made her breath lodge in her throat. "So…more than just a pretty face?"

"Oh, shut up," Hope huffed, but she still accepted his kiss easily enough.

They didn't make it back to the Great Hall until after the Sorting, which Hope was perfectly fine with -George had insisted on her laying down for fifteen minutes when her stomach had started to roil, and Hope thought it wasn't worth the effort to fight with him about it-, what she wasn't fine with was the number of eyes on her and George as they took their seats, Hope between Ron and Hermione, and George at Fred's left side.

At least Hope was looking less wan and pale as she tucked into her shepherd's pie even as Hermione furiously refused to eat another bite after finding out that house elves made the food. Hope doubted that Hermione's hunger strike was going to last long, but she didn't really think it wise to comment on it.

"So!" The tables instantly quieted as Dumbledore stood and Hope scowled at him before returning her attention to her plate. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it." His eyes lingered on Fred and George who whistled with innocence that they had never had. "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"What?" Hope and Ron stared at each other in horror.

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October," Dumbledore continued as though shocked mutterings hadn't broken out across the hall, "and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy –but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—" But his words were stalled and overtaken as the night sky above them up on the ceiling flashed and boomed as thunder and lightning made their presences known. And then a third presence was added to the mix as the doors were thrown open.

The man who stood at the threshold was quite impressive to say the least. Hope knew she wasn't the only one craning her neck to catch a glimpse of him.

He limped heavily, leaning a bit on his staff, his face shrouded by his travelling cloak as he made his way to the front, finally shaking back his hood, but all Hope could see was shaggy, dark greying hair. It was only when he turned towards Dumbledore that they actually got a look at his face. The scars were plenty; he was missing a part of his nose and the rest of his face was marred, though not as much as his nose. And his eyes…they were by far the strangest. One was normal, well, as normal as it could be on a face like his, but the other was much larger and rounder, about the size of a Sickle perhaps and it was a bright blue. And it was staying forward like the other one, it was gazing to the side, and then out of the back of his head.

Creepy…and kind of _cool_. Hope wasn't sure which one it was more of as the man shook Dumbledore's, sharing a few words of quiet conversation that no students in the hall would have been able to understand or even hear.

It was only once the man had taken the seat to the right of Dumbledore that the Headmaster spoke once more. "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Professor Moody."

Whispers flitted through the hall at the name Moody. Hope could have sworn that she'd heard it somewhere…

"This is Trainee Tonks, normally she'd be with my colleague Moody, but I'm minding her today," was what Kingsley had said when they'd first been introduced, making the young pink-haired woman at his side glower.

"Moody?" Hermione asked Ron suddenly. "Like Mad-Eye Moody? That bloke your dad had to go help this morning? The one who had a problem with policemen?"

Hope had evidently missed something while being with the Thomas', but it didn't seem like an appropriate time to ask.

"Don't see how it could've been anyone else," Ron shrugged.

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked, completely stunned by his appearance. "What happened to his _face?"_

"Dunno." Ron was staring at him in unabashed awe as he thrust his hand into his cloak and pulled out a small hip flask, taking a long drink from it. Hope's eyes dropped to the floor, widening in surprise at what she saw. Because instead of having a leg made of flesh, he had one made of wood with a clawed foot.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore started again, smiling as he was well aware of the attention that was directed to Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

This meant absolutely nothing to Hope, but clearly it meant something to a lot of people as even Fred spoke up, excited and surprised. "You're JOKING!"

At that comment, laughter filled the hall and Hope tried to ignore how Fred's cheeks turned a faint pink.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he disagreed with a small chuckle, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar." A sharp look from Professor McGonagall sent him in the right direction. "Er– but maybe this is not the time...no...where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament...well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities– until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

 _Of course,_ Hope thought wryly, bitterly _, fiercely._ _It couldn't be considered very challenging if there wasn't threat of death._

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore said over the continuing whispers of excitement, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger."

For some reason, Hope couldn't help but very much think that those efforts were going to be in vain.

(She could still see it hanging over Cedric, an omen of death)

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it!" Fred said with enthusiasm that Hope couldn't share. Though she had to admit, the thousand Galleon reward would definitely help them down the road towards that joke shop they were cooking up.

But…high death toll? A thousand galleons weren't worth risking your life. Hope knew that well enough; she'd risked her life enough to know that.

Hope twisted her snake ring around her finger and kept her eyes down in case she looked up and saw Cedric.

"Whoa," Ron said in awe, "imagine doing that!"

"Yeah, let's not," Hope said, taking a drink of her pumpkin juice, "I think I'd like to at least have one year where I'm not worrying about something that could possibly kill me."

Ron and Hermione laughed, but she wasn't wrong; a break would be nice.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, nodding to them in turn, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age –that is to say, seventeen years or older– will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion."

The ire of many at the missed chance to prove themselves was shared by George and Fred who yelled out "That's rubbish!"

"I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! _Chop chop!"_

Students fell in together and merged in their haste to leave the Hall, leaving the trio and Fred and George as the only ones at the Gryffindor table, the aisles completely filled.

"They can't do that! We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot!" George complained as Hope took his hand and dragged him out of his seat to stand.

"Sometimes life just sucks, Georgie," she said, rolling her eyes and kissing the corner of his mouth, "now come on, we're getting left behind."

"They're not stopping me entering," Fred said mulishly. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," Ron said dreamily, no doubt thinking what he could buy with that kind of money. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons…"

Hermione and Hope shared a look of annoyance as they dragged the boys towards the entrance hall, and up after all the others had gone before them. The stairs didn't take so long to climb today and in no time they found themselves in front of the Fat Lady who asked automatically: "Password?"

 _"Balderdash_ ," George said sullenly and they all entered through the portrait hole, and Hope, who probably should've skipped the meal entirely, fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed.

* * *

Hallam Street was empty and dark and it gave her a bad feeling. Hope wouldn't have even known it was Hallam, if not for the Feywild Café.

All the other buildings were gone, like they'd never been there.

Hope crossed the street, looking around her…it was strange. There was no moon and no stars to illuminate the darkness, just one flickering lamppost, and Hope who had grown up feeling as though eyes were on her, couldn't help but feel watched, even now.

She steeled her nerves, crossing the street to grasp the brass knob and pull it open.

"Sylvar?" She called carefully. "Are you here?"

After that dream of her at the Thomas', she'd tried to go to the Feywild Café, but it had been quiet and blocked off, like someone didn't want anyone to get into it, and, most importantly, Sylvar had been nowhere to be seen.

The lights within the café flickered as ominously as they had outside, casting shadows on the pool of blood there.

 _"Help,"_ a voice rasped and Hope shot awake in bed, breathing in and out hard.

Hope could feel the dread in her bones and she dressed quickly and quietly, leaving the dormitory silently, hightailing up to Morea's chamber.

* * *

"Why?" She could barely gasp as her blood choked her. She didn't know them, their face was hidden and unknown. But she didn't have to see the face to know the presence that spread like shadows, drowning out the light, and she didn't have to know the face to see the smirk.

"To win the game," they breathed. "Time to leave the queen undefended."

Sylvar's eyes widened.

"Time to let the Raven Queen know that I'm getting stronger and stronger," they purred. "You've been dead for centuries, Sylvar, sister of Selenar, I think it's time you went _back."_

"No—" Sylvar gargled, clutching at their hand. "You _can't_ —she's just a child—"

"Oath-Breaker said that too," they said, unconcerned, "time's running out…soon I'll be reunited with my beloved, but I so love _misery."_ The smile on its face was twisted and dark. "This is my favorite game…the little lost shadow, hidden from sight…but I'm going to bring her into the light, and I want her to be scared, so _very_ scared…but I'm patient…I can _wait."_

Their eyes were pools of blackness and Sylvar saw nothing more.

* * *

Mirror bridges were complicated but not difficult to create. Quinn had showed Hope how to make one once, but making it a second time was harder.

Hope's hand was bleeding, but she was used to that. No one else had given up so much blood and gotten so much blood in the school, Hope would wager. She carefully painted the sigils that were needed to make the mirror bridge work, watching the blood sink into mirror, before checking the clock again.

Three in the morning, there was still time, _plenty of time._

She pressed a hand to the surface of the mirror and watched it sink through. She was probably freaking out about nothing, anyways.

 _But then why are you so worried?_ A voice in her head murmured.

"Shut up," Hope muttered to herself before stepping through.

Mirror bridges were…strange and involved connecting one mirror to another through another dimension, one that Quinn called the Mirror Realm, and one that most people avoided. Luckily, you weren't there for very long if you were lucky.

The ground glowed faintly beneath her shoes and Hope followed the glowing path forward until it stopped beneath the mirror that was hanging in the Feywild Café's bathroom. Hope swallowed thickly, redrawing the sigils and pulling herself through.

She fell over the sink.

Hope lay groaning on the ground for a moment, muttering "If I'm overreacting, then this is gonna be _awkward_ to explain."

The creak when she opened the door to see the same flickering lights from her dream. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest.

"Sylvar?" she barely breathed, coming out into the dining area and feeling her stomach fall out at the sight that stopped her dead.

Sylvar's dark hair was tangled with the blood pooling around her from a thick scarlet spot on her stomach, her hand outstretched, and her eyes unseeing.

"Sylvar, _nonononononono!"_ Hope lurched to her side, blood soaking into her knees as she grabbed at Sylvar. "Sylvar!" she sobbed. "Please, _please!"_

She lifted the woman so she was in her lap, holding onto her tightly, pressing a hand to a still-warm cheek. Like Hope had just missed her, like she was still in there and Hope could _fix it._

Hope pressed a hand over her stomach wound. " _Heal,"_ she whispered, but the rune on her wrist didn't warm or even glow. _"Heal!"_ she insisted, her voice shaking, "please… _please, heal!"_

The rune did nothing and Hope sobbed.

There would be no more hot cups of pomegranate tea just the way Hope liked it, or laughter about how thickly she cut her vegetables, or sandwiches wrapped tight for a long ride, or smiles when she picked a lock just right.

Sylvar had been there before everyone else…and she was _gone_ , there was no getting her back.

Hope buried her face into Sylvar's shoulder and let loose a keening sound that caused the windows to fracture.

(Streets away Nathaniel Lord held impossibly still, turning his head back, and a world away a woman cloaked in raven feathers breathed in sharply)

* * *

He knew it was coming, but he still wasn't prepared for it when he opened his door to see Hope standing there, soaked to the bone and wearing someone else's blood, shaking and tears falling freely.

"Nath," she croaked.

"Dearest, _what_ —come inside!" He pulled her into the bare flat immediately and the door had barely swung shut before she'd wound her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

Nath remembered all the tears and the rage from when she was ten and struggling to get on her feet. Someone had once said "Anyone else would've been screaming by now" but not Hope, never Hope…there were _dangers_ in screaming; Lily had known that well enough.

He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight and pressing a kiss to the top of her wet hair. "Hey, it's okay… _shh_ , I've got you."

It took her half an hour to calm down and ten minutes more for Nath to convince her to take a hot shower, giving her some spare clothes.

He gave her until she'd had a few swallows of pomegranate tea before asking "Is it something you want to talk about?"

Hope opened and closed her mouth a few times. "No," she said finally in that rough voice that made him so very _angry_. "I'm…I'm okay."

"You're not," Nath disagreed. "And that's okay…just don't bottle it in, all right?"

"Bottle it in?" Hope's laugh was empty. "That's like most of who I am."

Nath's mouth twitched faintly and he cupped her cheek, leaning forward to kiss her brow. "You don't have to do everything on your own, dearest."

Hope sighed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them several hours later, she was lying on the couch in Morea's chamber, the rain rattling against the window, her clothes -dry and without a trace of blood- by her feet, and Hope pressed a hand to her eyes, gritting her teeth against the tears.

Was this how Sirius had felt? Being too late?

* * *

"You do the talking."

"No, _you!"_

Hope tried not to sigh, using a dropper to add exactly two drops of belladonna to her bubbling potion before dropping a fistful of fluxweed into the cauldron and stirring thrice clock-wise. "You know I can hear you, right?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look behind her that she couldn't see, but didn't need to.

"Um, Hope," Hermione said carefully, "we're just wondering how you're doing…you didn't show up to Arithmancy…or Herbology and Professors Vector and Sprout said you'd come down with something, and Ron thought—"

"Someone's dead," Ron said shortly, casting a glower towards Hermione. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Hope was quiet for the longest time. "Did I ever tell you about Sylvar?" she asked finally, her voice too broken to be anywhere close to mild. She pressed her hand to her mouth briefly to swallow down the bile. "She…she had this café that I would hang out in…she kept me fed when the Dursleys didn't, gave me a place to be safe…she taught me how to cook without being afraid of being hit for messing a recipe up—" Hope choked on a laugh. "' _Discovery is an adventure, little shadow_ ,' was what she said when something didn't come out tasting right." She blinked furiously. "I _knew_ something wasn't right, so I made a mirror bridge to the Feywild Café."

"What's—?" Hermione started to ask, but Ron cut her off with a look and she subsided.

"When I, when I got there," Hope swallowed thickly, "it was too late. Syl-Sylvar was _dead."_

"Oh," Hermione whispered sadly, "oh, _Hope…"_

"Someone stabbed her." Hope pressed her hands into her face. "And then she just crumpled away! And…" Hope scrubbed at her eyes. "And I barely even saw her the past three years…and now she's just _gone!"_

Ron pulled her gently from the bubbling potion to pull her into a hug that Hermione easily joined in on. It didn't take the pain away, but it hurt just a little less to know that there were always going to be those two to help support her, _no matter what._

* * *

Dean knew something was wrong, but Hope didn't want to talk about it to him, or to George, it seemed, given the sometimes concerned exasperation he'd seen on her boyfriend's face, so Dean decided to leave it alone.

He glanced over to where she'd settled into her seat with Ron and Hermione at either side, close to the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. Her hair was still black and there was a bit more color to her cheeks than there had been before, so he supposed that was good enough, for now.

And he'd seen her smile earlier that day when Moody had turned Malfoy into a ferret, so there was hope.

"Right, then," Moody grunted as he concluded roll call and fixed them all with a stare -with both eyes, which was a bit disconcerting-, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures –you've covered Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

He received a few nods in response.

"But you're behind – _very behind_ – on dealing with curses," Moody noticed, his eyes scanning over them, the blue one swirling oddly in its socket. "So, I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark—"

"Only one year?" Ron demanded suddenly, cutting off the scarred ex-Auror. "You're not staying?" His mouth snapped shut as both eyes zeroed in on him. And then Moody's ruined lips curved into a smile.

"Ah, so you'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" he asked, no doubt recognizing the bright ginger hair that was a Weasley trademark. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago...Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore...one year, and then back to my quiet retirement."

He chuckled but none of the rest of the class joined in. Hermione shared a look with Hope had told her she wasn't quite sure how good of a teacher this ex-Auror would be.

"So– straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm _supposed_ to teach you counter curses and leave it at that. I'm _not_ supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

Eyes went to the girl in question and Dean's eyebrow twitched and he hid a snort as she blushed a faint pink, quickly stuffing what looked like a horoscope back into her bag. Several eyes appraised Moody, impressed that his eye could even see through wood.

"So...do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?" he asked them all, his voice echoing in the silence of the classroom.

Hope stiffened in her seat, and Dean clenched a fist under the table, remembering clearly that night a year ago.

"You, Weasley."

Ron glanced at Hope, but she didn't even move. Dean wasn't even sure that she noticed Moody's eye swiveling to watch her, while the other fixed on Ron.

"Er…" Ron gulped nervously. "My dad told me about one...Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes." Moody nodded in agreement. "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

He stumped over to his desk and coaxed a large black spider from a glass jar. Ron leaned back quickly once he saw what it was that Moody was bringing out of the jar, his eyes wide. Moody moved around his desk so that he was standing in front of all of them, as he had been before, holding the spider still in his hand before muttering _"Imperio!"_

The class watched in fascination as the spider spun through the air, doing a series of acrobatics that it would have never been able to of its own free will. It did a few twists like a ballerina before doing a series of cartwheels, and then a tap dance.

The others in the class thought it was funny, but Dean couldn't help but think that there was a reason it was one of the most punishable curses.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody demanded of them, the blue eye swirling around oddly in its socket. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

The silence that fell was rather abrupt, and Dean swallowed thickly.

"Total control," Moody said in a low voice, but there was no way to miss what he said. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats..."

Seamus gagged slightly beside Dean.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," Moody said and Dean didn't have to guess to know it was about the War. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. _CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"_

Everyone jumped at the last two words as Moody replaced the spider into the jar.

"Anyone else know one?" He growled out. "Another illegal curse?"

There weren't many hands that went up this time, in fact, there were only two: Hermione and Neville. But it was Neville that surprised Dean more. He rarely volunteered to answer questions in class outside of Herbology, so him raising a hand in DADA? That was surprising, and Neville himself was shocked at his own daring and absolutely pale.

"Yes?"

"There's," Neville's voice faded a little before he barreled on, "There's one– the Cruciatus Curse."

He couldn't be sure if Neville was aware of how many eyes were on him, including both of Moody's. "Your name's Longbottom?"

He gave a jerky nod, his face somber, why, Dean couldn't figure out.

"The Cruciatus Curse," Moody said, as he placed a second spider on the desk, "needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea." He pointed his wand at a spider a second time. _"Engorgio!"_

The spider bulged, looking almost as if it had eaten too much, that is, if the rest of him hadn't grown with the stomach as well, only stopping once it was the approximate size of a tarantula. Ron wasn't the only one scrambling away from the spider.

Hope hadn't moved an inch.

" _Crucio!"_

Hope flinched and Dean could see how her knuckles turned white. Dean watched, horrified, as the spider's legs bent inwards, and then it rolled and twitched. Then it began to jerk more violently and Dean looked immediately to Neville. What little color he had was now gone and he looked almost as if he was in genuine pain watching that spider.

"Stop it!" Hope snapped, slamming her hands into the desk as she stood, furiously glaring at Moody. _"Stop it!_ Can't you see what you're doing?!"

Moody looked up and both eyes rested on her, before switching to Neville, who she was still staring at, only just now relaxing now that the spell had stopped.

Moody picked up the spider and stumped over to where Hope was, making her recoil a little as he dropped it before her on her desk.

"Pain," he said quietly. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse…That one was very popular once too…Miss Potter, being the only one to survive this spell, twice, even, perhaps you want to give us the last curse?"

Dean swallowed thickly, trying not to think of the flash of green, and Hope didn't look much better. The color had fled from her cheeks and she wordlessly refused to say it out loud.

He had never even heard the incantation, or even known what it was called, but he didn't need to when Hermione offered the quiet answer, there was no mistaking it; the Avada Kedavra.

"Ah," Moody gave a wry smile, agreeing. "Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra…the Killing Curse."

Without any warning, he raised his wand and pointed it at the spider cowering on Hope's desk. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Hope flinched violently at the flash of green, but that was nothing compared to Dean who turned ashen and stood to exit the room immediately, bile rising in his throat.

He thought he heard someone calling his name, but he walked quickly into the nearest lavatory, upending his breakfast into the first available toilet. He slid onto the floor, sitting there for the longest time, unable to hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears.

When his legs no longer shook too much to hold him, his stood, flushed the toilet, rinsed out his mouth, and splashed cold water in his face, looking at his face in the mirror.

His brow was unmarred and smooth, nothing like Hope's.

"I moved."

Dean turned around wildly to see Hope standing there, tired and still pale, but looking better than she had in the classroom. It seemed redundant to point out to her that she was in the boy's lavatory.

"I saw it coming," she said, seeing his brief confusion. "It was going to hit you, so…I moved."

"You m— _why?"_ Dean gaped. "It's supposed to _kill_ people! Why would _you—?"_

"It's not like there was a lot of time to think about it!" Patches of pink appeared on her cheeks, her words flustered. "Besides, better me than you."

 _"No,_ not better you than me!" Dean snapped furiously. "God, you're _so—"_

There was a sudden clearing of a throat and they both looked back to see Cassius Warrington, the broad-shouldered sixth-year Slytherin Chaser that Dean wasn't sure he'd ever hear speak.

"Potter," he rumbled.

Hope quirked a petulant eyebrow. "Cassius."

The look he gave her was so unimpressed that Dean wondered if they'd actually spoken. "This is the men's lavatory."

"Thank goodness you pointed that out," Hope replied, "I'll have to keep my eye out for any."

Warrington heaved a heavy sigh and strode past her and Hope smirked, before continuing their conversation. "So, you're saying I should've let you die? Yeah, that sounds like something _I_ would do."

"You didn't even know if you could've _survived it!"_ Dean growled through gritted teeth.

"No," Hope agreed, "but apparently I don't place as much value on my own life as I do on others." She shrugged helplessly. "Depression," she said as way of an explanation.

Dean sighed heavily, wiping his face and allowing Hope to drag him out of lavatory before anyone else came wandering in.

"I love you, Dean," Hope promised, "and as your sister, it's _my_ job to keep you safe."

"I don't think it works like that," Dean tried to point out, but Hope had already stepped forward to wind her arms around him, and Dean relented, hugging her back. She was so much shorter than him now that it was hard to remember when they'd first met that they'd been the same height.

When Hope drew back, it was to hand him a flask.

Dean stared at it blankly. "Who gave you access to alcohol?" Hope was a trip all by herself that adding alcohol just seemed like a bad idea.

She winked. "Quinn got me the flask."

"Oh, course they did," Dean sighed, taking a swig before staring at her as she cackled. "This is pomegranate tea…you _mother fucker."_

Hope's grin was positively demonic.

"You and George are perfect for each other," Dean decided. "You're both beings of _chaos."_

Hope tucked an arm through his, still laughing.

* * *

Hope was dozing softly against the couch when George finally sat down beside her that evening. Her books were piled on the floor close to her feet and her picture album was open on her lap, a worn piece of parchment folded under her hand. George had seen the suspicious glance she had given him earlier in the evening when she saw him and Fred whispering together. George wanted to tell her about what they were doing more than anything, but it would be better if she didn't get involved. Ludo Bagman had already proven to be quite capable of remorselessly stealing money off of minors and George hadn't been blind to the way he had eyed his girlfriend at the Cup, no doubt thinking of how much money he could con off her.

Very gingerly, he pulled the bit of parchment from her grasp to read the hastily scrawled words:

_Hope- I'm flying north immediately. There have been a strange series of rumors that have reached me here, and if anything happens, I want you to go to Dumbledore. They're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Hope._

_Sirius_

George knew startlingly very little about Hope's godfather, apart from the fact that he _evidently_ didn't like George very much, something Hope always said was hypocritical, given how much trouble he and her father had gotten up to in school.

"I think it might be that I'm dating you," George had pointed out.

 _"Ah_ , yeah, that'll do it," Hope had conceded.

At least Nath liked George, so there was hope, he supposed. Hope was always dropping hints that he wanted to meet George, which would be nothing short of terrifying, George was certain, but their schedules hadn't lined up thus far.

But he did know that Sirius Black was innocent of the crimes he'd been convicted of, because there was no way Hope would love him, let alone trust him, if he'd actually been the reason behind her parents' deaths.

"Hope?"

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pressing a kiss to the edge of her temple, along one of the lightning bolts carved into her brow.

"Mm, George," Hope murmured, not totally awake yet. "This is a nice dream."

George couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah?"

He got just a hint of her currently hazel eyes right before he leaned down to capture her lips in a short kiss. But when he leaned back, she leaned forward, pulling him down for a few brief seconds, before reluctantly parting, laying back, her hair pooling around her, smiling sleepily up at him.

It was the kind of look that George wanted to wake up to every day until they were old and weak.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Hope hummed, carding her fingers through his hair the way he liked it.

"You," he said honestly and Hope scoffed with a flush tainting her cheeks before she pushed him back slightly and George got a look at her books. "Hitting the books hard, love?"

Hope rolled her eyes. "Gotta have something to do on sleepless nights, right?" she asked.

"That's like…every night," George said, his brow furrowed. "Love, I can brew you a dreamless sleep potion—"

 _"No,"_ Hope said quickly, eyes startled, "no, none of that." She took a deep breath, taking his hands. "I love that you'd want to do that for me…but I _can't._ They gave me so much pain meds when I was in the hospital after my accident that it knocked me out and…it's worse being stuck in your own head when you can't get out."

George's eyes softened. "If there's anything I can do…you'll tell me, right?"

"Yeah," Hope said immediately. "Of course."

She still hadn't told him what it was that had made her miss the first day of class or why she'd been so…sorrowful afterwards, but George didn't tell her everything, so she didn't need to tell him everything.

"Get some sleep for me, baby, okay?" Hope smiled, kissing his cheek.

"One of us has to, I suppose," George mused and she gave a small laugh.

* * *

Hope had always found it difficult to focus in class, everything was so much harder for her to understand -barring Arithmancy, of course, you couldn't really go wrong with math- but it was a relief to know that there was actually something wrong with her that made wand-magic hard to grasp, not that it made it any better. But Sylvar's death still hung over Hope like a shroud and knowing that Sirius was heading north made matters worse.

She barely had time to fold Sirius' letter and stuff it into her Transfiguration book before the bell rang signaling the end of class.

"Miss Potter, a moment please."

Hope sighed, ushering her friends on ahead of her to Defense Against the Dark Arts while she stayed behind for a word.

"You've been a little distracted these past few weeks," Professor McGonagall noticed. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Hope fought not to grimace, trying not to think of everything that was on her mind, but…there was a _lot._

"No," she said, feeling very much like when she had been twelve and Dumbledore had asked her pretty much the same question, "I'm just getting used to the workload again is all, Professor, I'm fine."

Professor McGonagall eyed her suspiciously for a few moments, but then she conceded. Hope had, after all, inherited the stubbornness of both of her parents. She wrote out a note for her to give to Moody and sent her on her way.

The first thing she heard when she entered the classroom was Hermione's voice, filled with anxiety. "But– but you said its illegal, Professor. You said– to use it against another human was—"

"He's putting us under the Imperius," Ron told her in a low whisper as she eased over to where they were standing, dropping her bag next to the wall like everyone else had, standing aside so that Moody could clear the room of desks.

Hope frowned slightly as she took her slip up to the scarred man who grunted in acknowledgement, quickly returning to her spot beside Ron.

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," he said, giving Hermione an unnerving stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way– when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely– fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."

Hermione flushed, but she fell abruptly silent as the first student was called forward to have the curse cast upon them. In retrospect, Hope knew that having the Imperius placed upon you would make you more likely to be able to combat it at a later date, and you'd be able to recognize the signs if you saw it, but the idea of someone having total control over her…it left a bad aftertaste.

Moody's requests were a bit mild, she had to admit, and she was grateful. She watched as Parvati sang first soprano, Dean hopped around the room singing Britain's national anthem off-key, Lavender did an impressive imitation of a squirrel, and Neville did some acrobatics that he should never have been capable of.

"Potter, you next."

Hope leaned off of the wall to make her way to the center, well aware of the whispers that had begun now that she was going to have her shot. She barely had time to tense her body before Moody jabbed his wand at her.

" _Imperio!"_

Hope wasn't quite sure how to describe it, but…it kind of felt like she was floating, inexplicably happy for no reason. It felt like a dream…but Hope was accustomed to nightmares and the spell made her feel like there were ants crawling under her skin.

_Dance for us…dance…_

Her hands uncurled at her side, raising slightly and positioning outwards. _Dance…_

 _Why are you listening to him?_ A voice in her head demanded as she fog just started clear. Her wand slipped slightly in her grasp. _That's stupid? Who're you dancing for? You like having people cast spells on you?_

Hope winced her eyes shut and opened them wide, trying to shake off the thoughts in her head.

_Dance…_

She was unaware of the class watching her in fascination as she grasped her head, a massive migraine blooming. She had excellent mental warding thanks to Quinn, so she knew there was no one actually in her head, but the unsettling feeling it gave her had her gripping her wand tight and Hope no longer felt like she was floating.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Evidently, she put a little too much power into the spell, because the jet of red light that sent Moody's wand flying also sent him back a few feet. He managed to stay on his feet and was absolutely delighted while Hope's head spun. "Oh, _hell—"_

"Now, _that's_ more like it! Look at that, you lot!" Moody's voice sounded very loud to her echoing ears. "Potter fought! She fought it, and she _beat it!_ We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention– watch her eyes, that's where you see it– very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling _you!"_

Hope wondered who he was referring to, but she cared more about finishing this quickly so that she could head to the hospital wing for a headache potion at the very least…and probably the girls' lavatory to vomit in before she made it up there…

* * *

The Triwizard Tournament was all anyone could talk about and the impending arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Personally, Hope couldn't get into it.

"All I'm _saying,"_ she said over lunch, "is that if I was creating a tournament like that, I wouldn't've outlawed wandless magic because wouldn't that be the absolute expression of power?"

"Maybe that's why they did?" Hermione asked archly.

"More likely because wandless magic had a bad reputation back then," Ron snorted. "Have you heard people talk about magicians these days? Might as well be in bed with You-Know-Who."

Hope choked on her pumpkin juice and Hermione had to beat her back several times to get her breathing. "Gods," she gasped, "why did you put that image _in my brain?"_

They both laughed.

"It's a bummer, all right," George's dejected voice floated over to them. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."

"Who's avoiding you?" Ron asked, leaning towards his older brothers where they were sitting not too far away. Close enough for George to slide against Hope which some days made Ron gag, and though Hope and George might've been domestic, they weren't anywhere close to Fred and Angelina's in-your-face-sappiness, which was a relief.

"Wish you would," Fred said in genuine aggravation and Hope frowned.

"What's a bummer?" Ron pressed on, switching gears to George, but he might as well have just quit because George might've been the nicer, more accommodating twin, but if Fred wasn't talking, George certainly wouldn't be.

"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," George told him shortly.

"Did you ever ask Professor McGonagall about the tournament?" Hope asked, dragging them away from the clearly one-sided conversation.

"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling," George said in a mournful manner even as he hooked his ankle under Hope's, tossing a wink her way that had Fred sniggering and Ron groaning. "She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" Ron muttered thoughtfully.

"Probably something very dangerous," Hope said dryly. "Or else they wouldn't've made the limit be seventeen."

"You know, I bet we could do them, Hope. We've done dangerous stuff before..." Ron grinned at her and she rolled her eyes at him for good measure, like she hadn't just been complaining about the wand-magic requirement.

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," Fred said, agreeing with Hope. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."

"D'you know who the judges are?" Hope asked, surprised.

"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione, looking up from her Arithmancy homework that Hope had already finished, not that Hermione was sour about it or anything, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."

"Really?" Hope was staring at her like she had never quite seen anything like her before. "Don't tell me this was in _Hogwarts, A History_!"

"It is," she admitted, "Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. _A Revised History of Hogwarts_ would be a more accurate title. Or _A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School_."

Hope sighed, pressing a hand over her eyes and trying to block out Hermione as she went on another tangent about house elves. She almost missed Hedwig swooping down to sit before her, nipping sharply at her fingers.

 _"Ow!_ Oh, hey Hedwig." She hooted tiredly, holding out leg, on which Hope could see a letter. She took a good chunk of Hope's food when she wasn't looking, but the food seemed to brighten the owl who took flight immediately afterwards.

Hope grimaced, seeing that it was in Sirius' handwriting. She had sent him a letter a few weeks back that had told him that she had everything under control and she didn't want him risking his life and safety by coming back, but clearly, he hadn't taken the bait.

_Nice try, Hope._

_I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself._

_Sirius_

She folded it up and placed it in her pocket after showing it to Hermione and Ron who shared a glance of worry before sinking mournfully into her lunch.

* * *

The arrival of the two schools had been impressive to say the least. Beauxbatons had come in a carriage pulled by winged Abraxans, dragged through the sky, while Durmstrang had literally popped right out of the Black Lake. Of course, Hope didn't doubt that they were trying to show off. It didn't help that Durmstrang had Victor Krum still as a student, as Ron had noticed in unabashed awe. But it still must've been strange for them, to uproot their life wherever they were to come here for a year.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and –most particularly– guests," Dumbledore said, causing the raucous to settle down almost immediately, his eyes twinkling as he smiled at all of them. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Hope had to say it. She was rather impressed with the variety of the food the house elves had cooked up. There were the usual British and Irish treats that they almost always had -usually only changing on special holidays-, but there were a new number of foreign foods that Hope was more than happy to put on her plate. She tried what looked like braised chicken and something that looked an awful lot like lamb, both which were cooked to perfection, before pulling a bowl towards her, spooning into it what looked like shellfish stew.

"What's that?" Ron asked her, leaning forward to scrutinize it closely.

"No idea, but it looks really good."

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione supplied, to which Ron said, "Bless you."

She gave him a filthy look for his trouble. "It's French," she said, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."

Hope sipped it, testing the taste, and she couldn't find anything to complain about; French food was pretty good.

"I'll take your word for it." Ron, however, stuck with the usual, spooning black pudding onto his plate.

"Excuse me, are you done with ze bouillabaisse?"

Hope raised her eyes to the girl who had spoken, struck briefly. She was uncommonly beautiful with hair so blonde that it was nearly silver and eyes impossibly blue.

The girl, in return, stared at Hope, in surprise and confusion. " _Excusez-moi,"_ she apologized quickly, "zis might be… _imploi?_ But what _are_ you?"

"Excuse me?" Hope's eyebrows rose and she hit Ron in the shoulder when she noticed he'd been staring too long. "Human, the last time I checked."

The girl furrowed her brow. "Are you? You don't look eet."

"Uh…thanks?" Hope replied awkwardly and the girl finally held out a hand, smiling broadly.

"Fleur Delacour," she said.

 _"Enchanté_ ," Hope said simply. "I'm Hope, these are my friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger." She pointed them each out in turn.

" _Enchanté,"_ Hermione said, Ron echoing her, before asking kindly. "Would you like to join us?"

It wasn't hard to notice the stares their little group was getting.

Fleur glanced back towards the Beauxbaton's lot over at the Ravenclaw table, but they didn't seem to notice she had gone. As she turned back, she sighed heavily.

"I would love to."

And she sat easily, helping herself to the shellfish soup.

Fleur had only just finished telling them at Beauxbatons was more of a school for academics than for sports, leaving Ron stunned that anyone would want to go to a school that didn't have Quidditch when Dumbledore called for quiet once more.

"The moment has come." Dumbledore smiled at all of them. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation—" He gestured to the man that had destroyed Sirius' life and Hope huffed in annoyance, dropping her head into her hand. "—and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports." The boyish-faced man beamed at them all as they applauded, waving wildly. "Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

Dumbledore must have realized now that all of the attention was on him, but he paid them no heed, turning instead to Filch. "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

They all watched attentively as the caretaker approached carrying a wooden chest. Hope had never seen anything like it…the wood was intricately carved and there were glittering jewels melded into the wood.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge." Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles reflected the light of the torches. "There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways...their magical prowess– their daring –their powers of deduction –and, of course, their ability to cope with danger. As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Hope watched in silence as he removed a roughly carved wooden cup that was large enough to be Dumbledore's height when resting on top of the chest it had been inside. She couldn't help but stare with the rest when blue and white flames burst forth, filling the cup to the brim, flickering above it in the open air.

Dumbledore tapped a wrinkled hand against its base, saying clearly to the rest of them: "Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete." Excited whispers sprung forth at his words. "To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

"Are you going to enter?" Hope asked Fleur, scrutinizing her. "Are you seventeen? You look seventeen."

"I am, to both," Fleur said, smiling.

"Good luck," said Ron, completely serious, "my older brothers are going to try to fool the Age Line into thinking they're a few months older."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, it's not going to work, is it?"

"We can laugh at their misfortune," Hope said with a grin, winking at George as he pulled her out of her seat by both of her hands. "Hey, baby."

Ron made a groaning noise and Fleur arched a pale eyebrow.

"That's George Weasley," Hermione supplied for her. "He and Hope have been dating since last year; Ron thinks they're too sappy."

"How would you feel if your friend was snogging your brother?" Ron grumbled mutinously at her side.

Fleur had to stifle a giggle at that.

"Oh, and Fleur, we can give you the grand tour tomorrow if you like," Hope said, dragging her attention away from her boyfriend temporarily.

"Zhat would be lovely," Fleur said in her throaty voice, grateful for the kindness the three had shown her. They had no way of knowing that she was very much an outcast in Beauxbatons with her Veela blood. She was quite grateful for their companionship, even if her Allure annoyed Hermione a little and made Ron slightly dazed.

She would be writing home later to her Maman and Papa and little Gabrielle telling them of how she was now looking forward to the year ahead with very much excitement.

* * *

"The Astronomy Tower's got the best view," Hope said, sparing Fleur a smile as the older girl trailed after them, taking in as much as she could as they ascended up until they were standing outside with nothing but the wind and the sky. "Of course, it's much better at night; it's the best place to stargaze from—"

"And we all know how often you do that," Ron said, rolling his eyes slightly.

Hope looked affronted at his comment. "I will have you know that I haven't star-gazed at all this term!" The _yet_ was silent.

"Which is astonishing by itself," Hermione told Fleur who gave a short laugh as Hope said in a voice of indignation _"Oi!"_

"Well, that's probably everything," Hope admitted once they were back inside, "well, obviously not everything. I mean, it's not like we know where everything is in Hogwarts…Fred and George probably know more, they know everything about Hogwarts, secret passages and all that."

Hermione burst into giggles at the mention of the Weasley twins.

"What?" Hope and Ron asked flummoxed.

"I suppose you didn't go down to the Great Hall for early for breakfast, then?" Hermione said, her lips twitching. "After the Durmstrang students put their names into the goblet, Fred and George tried to enter using an Aging Potion."

"How much did it backfire?" Hope asked in delight, her imagination running wild.

"They had rather impressive white beards, I have to say."

Hope and Ron positively howled with laughter, startling a few stray students as they passed them by.

"Miss Potter, Mr. Weasley!"

"S'not our fault, Professor!" Hope gasped, hardly recovered from her fit. "It's Hermione's fault!"

Hermione shot them a glare while Fleur watched on in obvious amusement. "I was just telling them about what happened to Fred and George when they tried to cross the Age Line, Professor," she said calmly.

Professor McGonagall resisted smiling, but only just. "Ah, yes, I've heard they are now clean-shaven, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey."

"That's good," Hope said, finally having calmed down a bit to introduce their new friend, "this is Fleur Delacour, by the way, from Beauxbatons. Fleur, this is our Transfiguration professor, Professor McGonagall."

"How are you enjoying your stay, Miss Delacour?" Professor McGonagall asked kindly.

"Eet iz…'ow do you say eet?" She glanced to Hope for help.

" _Fascinant?"_ Hope offered helpfully. Her French was incredibly basic.

" _Oui_ ," Fleur said smiling, "I 'ave never seen anyzing like eet."

"I'm glad," Professor McGonagall said honestly.

"Zhank you for ze tour," she told the three, "I 'ave to get back to Madam Maxime, but may I join you for _déjeuner_?"

"I'm sure Ron and Hermione won't mind, but I'm stepping out," Hope said, checking her watch. She was the one among them dressed for the chilly weather.

Ron and Hermione nodded in understanding, though Fleur frowned in confusion as she ran off to meet up with a tall boy with dark skin who gave her a faint smile.

"It's Halloween," Hermione explained, noticing Fleur's confusion. "Hope never does anything on Halloween…it was when her parents were killed. She probably won't even come to dinner to find out about the champions."

"Oh," Fleur couldn't help but be disheartened, but it was understandable. It hadn't been hard to figure out Hope was Hope Potter -the scar was a dead giveaway- and if Fleur's parents had both been killed on a specific day, she'd want as little to do with it as possible.

* * *

"So, what's this one do?"

"I mean, it's not really complete yet," Hope grumbled as they walked down the street. Quinn had picked them up from Hogwarts very early, so Hope and Dean spent the day lazing around, watching Star Wars whilst doing their own thing -Dean sketching and Hope working and reworking equations. "It's supposed to be a kind of teleportation, like creating a portal between to places…like a mirror bridge without the bridge, but I can't get the equations to work right…"

She rolled her eyes, taking the journal from him and stuffing it into her pocket.

"Sounds like _someone's_ salty about not being able to flash places…" Dean whistled an innocent tune and Hope gave him a dry look.

"No one uses flashing anymore because its half-made, Salazar Slytherin never got to fully complete it in the first place, which is why continent jumping _isn't_ recommended—" Not that _that_ hadn't stopped her from using it in the first place…

"Though I'm sure having a nightmare about the forbidden forest and ending up there isn't the best thing," Dean snorted before falling silent as they came to the gate that led into Godric Hallow's cemetery.

Hope breathed out a shaky breath, tightening her grip on the bouquet of blue irises that Quinn had twisted out of nothing before heading off.

"You okay?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Hope said quickly, looping her arm through his as they began the walk through. "Just, um…never seen where they were _buried_ …just—"

"Just where they were killed?"

 _"Yeah_ ," Hope whispered, walking side by side with him. She thought she caught sight of the name 'Peverell' the name that had been on her admittance paperwork at Brakebills, but it wasn't the time to look.

"Potter! There it is!"

Hope allowed Dean to drag her forward before a slab of white marble, bold and clear even in the relative darkness, their names side by side, as they undoubtedly lay under the frosted grass.

JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

 _"It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live,"_ Hope read out, her voice choking, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Gods…that's so like…"

"You," Dean nudged her shoulder and she smiled faintly, rubbing at her eyes. "Sounds like you, not fearing death and all."

Hope sucked on her bottom lip before leaning down to place the flowers gently against the gravestone.

There was a large groan. " _Ugh._ I thought you'd never _show!_ Do you know how long I've been waiting in this graveyard?"

Hope jolted, standing swiftly to stare at a woman sitting on a gravestone directly behind her parents'. She was dressed in leather armor bearing a triple spiral, vambraces on her arms, a pair of swords strapped to her back. But it was the sight of the straight black hair pulled back, the ears that came to a point, and the incredibly familiar face that choked Hope up.

 _"Sylvar_ ," she gasped and the woman smirked. She had to've been the one Hope had seen outside the Thomas' window; Sylvar never dressed like that, like she was ready for a battle.

"Not quite."

Hope reached behind her and Dean blinked and she'd flung a knife right at the woman's face. Unfortunately, she snatched it easily out of the air.

"Nice aim," she said, before throwing it back.

Hope barely caught it, her expression stony. "My godfather taught me."

"Nathaniel Lord," the woman hummed, "and odd alias for someone like him, but who am I to judge?"

Hope glared. "You're wearing my friend's face, but you're not her…she's been dead since _September."_

Dean started in surprise, looking from Hope to the woman and back.

She smiled thinly. "This is actually my face, there is such a thing as identical twins, you know."

Hope scoffed, not bothering to point out she was, in fact, dating an identical twin, pointing the abalone knife at her. "People tend to talk about their twins…funny thing is, Sylvar never _mentioned_ you."

The woman stood. "She wouldn't. We parted on bad terms, and by that, I mean she massively screwed up and _died_ and I wanted nothing to do with her…but that was centuries ago."

Hope glowered. "No, she died in _September!_ I snuck out of school to check on her and—" She swallowed thickly, blinking furiously. "By the time I got there, she was already _d-dead!"_

Everything about her behavior the past month suddenly made sense. Dean had been told so many stories about Sylvar when Hope was growing up. "Hope," he said gently, "why didn't you _say_ anything?"

"Probably because her body turned to ash and faded away soon after, right?" The woman quirked an eyebrow. "Difficult to mourn knowing there's no body—"

 _"That doesn't make it difficult to mourn!"_ Hope snarled.

"Uh, kinda does," the woman retorted. "I _told_ you, she died centuries ago, she fell asleep while on guard duty and three hundred and twelve lives were lost because of it, what you knew…was a soul bonded to living flesh…she only existed as Sylvar Doran, owner of the Feywild Café, because you needed protecting, honestly, you still do, but there's only so much interference we can do before others notice."

" _Excuse me?"_ Hope snapped. "I don't _need_ protecting!"

"No offense kid, but you've been killed like… _six_ times, including the basilisk bite—"

"We don't include the basilisk bite," Dean said quickly.

"Yes, we fucking do, _shut up,"_ Hope said out of the corner of her mouth.

The woman had such a put-upon look on her face, clearly not used to dealing with children or, indeed, wanting to deal with children. "Look, the point is, no one is _that_ unlucky—"

"I'm cursed," Hope said sarcastically.

"Well, _yeah_ , I kinda got that." She rolled her eyes, missing the double take. "Sylvar was there to keep you alive…but she didn't do the best job."

 _"Hey!_ I'm alive!"

She arched an eyebrow. "You were killed when you were ten years old, right outside the café…do you have _any_ idea how _furious_ my lady was about that lapse of judgement? Do you have any idea how mad you have to make her to side with her _ex?_ Talking the pair of them down was a _nightmare!"_ She shivered at the memory.

"And who are you, exactly?" Dean frowned at her. Nothing she was saying was making any sense.

"I'm Selenar," she said, canting her head slightly. "Has anyone said you look uncommonly like your mother? The other one, of course."

Dean stiffened behind Hope. " _No_ ," he said frostily.

"Mm, _awkward_ ," Selenar grimaced, coughing slightly.

"Why are you here?" Hope demanded finally.

"I'm just the messenger," Selenar told her, her eyes fixing on Hope and they were so very _old._ "I come on behalf of the goddess Morrigan. She knows of your suffering and your loss and what destiny the humans believe is yours, but we know you will not survive long enough to see it if you continue on your current trajectory."

Hope's tongue went dry in her throat, and she raised a hand to press to the center of her chest, trying not to think about everything Professor Lipson had said about forcing a magic core inside a person.

_"Someone wants you to play a very specific part, one that requires you to have magic."_

"Why does she care?" Hope said finally, eyes bright. "Like you said, I've died several times…what's _one more death?"_

She couldn't see the concern in Dean's eyes.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're still alive," Selenar mused thoughtfully, considering her like her thoughts about her own demise weren't concerning and probably should've sent her off to a good shrink, "you must burn through an insane amount of blood."

"What are you talking about?" Hope demanded, twitching uncomfortably, not liking how well Selenar seemed to know her despite knowing very little about her, personally.

"I'm talking about how your magical core is infecting your whole body," Selenar arched an eyebrow and Dean balked in surprise. "No wonder you've felt so weak lately...the symptoms are only going to get worse, but we can fix it by removing your magical core."

Hope, who had talked extensively with Professor Lipson about it said, " _Yeah,_ you _totally_ look like you have the juice for that."

Selenar smirked faintly. "Not me. A god could, though."

"No, thanks," Hope said, thinking of how Quinn said Diane's ex was a god that she'd made a deal with, "I'll figure out how to fix this myself."

"You won't," Selenar replied without a doubt. "Your father could've told you that."

You could've heard crickets in the stilted silence that followed.

"What would _you know_ about my father?" Hope asked carefully through gritted teeth.

And from Selenar's cloak, she withdrew an odd sort of bottle, laced into leather, holding it out to her. "Would you like to know?"

Hope glowered, taking Dean's hand. "Come on, Dean, we're leaving."

She didn't see Selenar snap, but the next second she and Dean had tripped and found themselves on the floor of the Great Hall.

Selenar leaned over Hope where she was lying on her back, neither acknowledging the attention and the muttering at the sight of the three of them. "Just take the damn bottle."

" _No,"_ Hope said, not caring how petulant she sounded. Besides, what was a bottle going to tell her about her father? And, even more important, what was it going to do to help her current situation?

"Why _not?"_ Selenar demanded aggrieved.

"Because you want me to," Hope bared her teeth, "I like being a problem."

"You're an _impertinent brat_ , is what you are," Selenar complained with a huff of annoyance, pocketing the bottle. "I'll be seeing you, daughter of Oath-Breaker…much sooner than you _think."_

"Looking forward to it," Hope groaned, and then she was gone, leaving Hope to roll onto her stomach and push off the ground, helping drag Dean upright. "Is it just me or is everyone staring at me?"

Dean looked around, and sure enough, they were certainly being goggled at.

"I don't think that totally has to do with being dropped off by some Sylvar-lookalike," Hope said slowly.

Seamus, who happened to be the closest, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, Hope…your name came out of the goblet."

Immediately, Hope burst into laughter. " _Good one!"_ she wiped the tears from her eyes, before pausing, her smile falling. "Wait, you're _serious?"_ She gaped briefly. "You know, I reckon I was right about being cursed."

"I thought you were being _sarcastic!"_ Dean exploded, eyes startled as they fixed on her.

"I _was!_ I _am!"_ Hope retorted hotly. "But _c'mon!_ No one's as unlucky as me, you gotta be serious."

Dean smacked his hand to his brow, just looking at Hope out of the corner of his eye and Hope gave a helpless shrug with the faintest half-smile that faded when they were both approached by the ministry man Dean was sure was named Mr. Crouch.

"Miss Potter," Mr. Crouch cleared his throat loudly, extending a piece of parchment. "This is your name, is it not?"

Hope arched an eyebrow, taking the parchment carefully. "It's not my handwriting," she said, "and it's not how I sign my name."

Hope rarely wrote her last name down on assignments; it wasn't like there was another Hope to confuse her with.

"And how do you write your name?" Mr. Crouch asked archly and Hope didn't like the tone.

She thought of how she signed her name 'Marina Thomas' to those official documents at Brakebills. "Not like that," she said finally, scowling deeply at her name. "Is this your idea of a cruel joke, Mr. Crouch?"

"Why would it be mine?" Mr. Crouch was vaguely startled and turned positively white when Hope shifted her appearance to that of a boy with straw-blond hair and freckles.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, Mr. Crouch?" Hope said coolly. "Imagine how uncomfortable it was to find out that you gave your own son, a _Death Eater_ with a _Dark Mark_ , a trial and not Sirius Black, a man who bore _no Dark Mark_ and was only tied to Death Eaters by his relations despite being cast out by his Pure-blood-fanatic family years before."

Hermione and Ron breathed in sharply at the end of the table. They'd never quite seen Hope angrily explode, but they were very familiar with the quiet rage that bubbled underneath and somehow it was worse than an explosion.

"Yes, I would be uncomfortable too if someone shoved _my_ inadequacies in my face…but then again, _I_ wouldn't've sent an innocent man to prison without checking first." Hope smiled and it was anything but kind.

She pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Henry," she said, "would you mind passing the phone to your lovely husband?...Hello, Kingsley, I need some advice, because apparently your government is okay with me getting _murdered—"_

"Now, hang on—" Mr. Crouch sputtered as Hope's appearance shifted back and gave him an icy glare.

"I'm on the phone and _you're_ interrupting," she snapped, before replying to whoever was on the other end. "Yeah, I can meet, gimme half an hour and I'll be there." She shut it and tucked it into her back pocket. " _Fuck you,"_ she said decisively before turning around and taking the steps two at a time until she disappeared.

Ron watched her go, frowning. Maybe if he hadn't known Hope as well, he would've thought Hope would've put her name in…but Hope was struggling enough as it was and she hated being forced to use wand-magic and only wand-magic ("Give me blood runes and magician poppers _any day_ ," Hope grumbled); besides, she didn't have the skill to get past something like the Goblet of Fire.

Hope might've been a genius in spell creation, but she didn't read ahead on wand-magic unless forced.

"Morea's chamber?" Hermione asked quietly as chaos erupted.

"Morea's chamber," Ron agreed heavily.

* * *

"Can I legally murder someone? _Please?"_

Kingsley smiled faintly at Hope, wearing the familiar face of Marina Thomas, as she sat across from him at the Three Broomsticks. "I feel you might be asking the wrong person."

Hope grumbled something that sounded an awful lot like " _Fuckin' cops,"_ before lifting her head to fix dark eyes on him. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"Unfortunately," Kingsley grimaced. "The Goblet of Fire spitting out your name isn't something you can get out of…it's a—"

"Magically-binding contract," Hope grumbled. "Yeah, _yeah_ …even if I didn't put my name in?"

"Even then."

 _"Ugh!"_ Hope groaned before pulling his firewhisky towards her, taking a swallow and grimacing. "God, that burns, why on earth are Fred and George so gung-ho about it?"

Kingsley chuckled faintly. "I think the bigger issue right now is that—"

"I'm like three years short on experience with spells?" Hope aske dryly.

"Yes, _that."_

Hope sighed heavily. "When's even the first task?" She wasn't sure anyone in charge had actually said when it was…or maybe that had been the blood in her ears…

"Near the end of November, I heard," Kingsley hummed into his drink and Hope ground out a loud _"Fuck!"_

"I have less than a month to learn like…three years of spells and curses?" Hope complained. "I'm gonna _die_ for sure!"

"Well, that does seem to be the plan," Kingsley mused. "I would see about being able to skip some classes while you're trying not to die."

"No way will McGonagall go for that."

Kingsley remembered McGonagall from when he'd been in school, but he had a good idea that she actually wanted her student to survive. "I could talk to her for you."

 _"You would?"_ Hope lifted her head in startled surprise.

It was easy to forget when she aged up her appearance that Marina Thomas was actually Hope Potter a fourteen-year-old witch who was probably terrified on the inside. And Henry adored her, and Kingsley knew his husband was counting down the years until he had Marina Thomas' brilliance completely within his school (and possibly in his same discipline, if Adiyodi was to be believed).

"Take a breather, Mari," Kingsley suggested. "I'll talk with her."

And Hope positively _sagged._

* * *

Hope did not, in fact, make it back to Morea's chamber. After parting ways with Kingsley, who'd managed to negotiate in such a way that Hope had known instantly that when he'd been in school, he'd been a Slytherin, into Hope only having to physically be in Potions and Herbology -because really there was no getting out of the two hands on classes, but Hope had held out a hope- and sticking to completing homework as assigned.

"I want to hear that you're working hard, Potter," Professor McGonagall had told her seriously, face pale and tired and so very _worried._

Hope hadn't trusted her own voice, so she'd merely nodded while Kingsley patted her shoulder kindly and headed back to Greece, where his husband was undoubtedly waiting to hear why he'd rushed out of the house at Marina Thomas' call.

So, Hope had continued to the seventh floor and promptly had a panic attack.

 _How on earth was she supposed to do this?_ Kingsley had faith but Hope sure as fuck _did not._ Hope rubbed a hand across her throat where the thin scar was, trying to regulate her breathing.

She must've walked the length of the corridor three or four times when she noticed the door, exactly the spot where it had been last year when she'd decided swords weren't for her. She paused, too surprised to continue to panic, pushing the door open slightly and peering inside.

It was definitely a different room, full of books and chairs and targets. Hope trailed her fingers over the spines. _A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions...The Dark Arts Outsmarted...Self-Defensive Spellwork_...well, might as well start studying…

No one saw Hope for the rest of the weekend, not for lack of trying. If George was worried, then Ron and Hermione were past that to flat-out _concerned._ But none of them were exactly sure where Hope had stuffed the Marauder's Map -probably with everything else that Hope owned, but her bed had been made and her trunk gone by the time Hermione had woken up after staying late into the night in Morea's room waiting for her to show, but she never did- and Hope was very good about remaining unseen.

Meanwhile, rumors were flying, and not the good kind. Somehow, Hope's name was back to being mud, which was the most aggravating thing, because Hope had clearly said that she didn't put her name in, that it wasn't even her hand writing, but the fact was, she still had an opportunity that others would've _killed_ for.

And she'd taken the limelight away from Cedric, the actual Hogwarts champion, and the Hufflepuffs were _incensed._

Fleur, at least, was understanding. Hope was very open about her anti-wand-magic sentiments, but Fleur had to prepare for the first task too.

Ron and Hermione didn't see any hint of Hope in Transfiguration or Charms or Arithmancy…in fact, they didn't see her until Tuesday, in Herbology, looking tired and pale and not smiling. Ron saw her first and surprised her by throwing his arms around her, Hermione following quickly and Hope blinked, patting their backs kindly.

"Where've you _been?"_ Hermione demanded.

"Studying," was all Hope would say, teetering slightly on her feet, before the lesson began.

It was incredibly awkward, and the hatred was palpable from the Hufflepuff side, but at least the Gryffindors had decided to rally, so Hope found herself working alongside Ron, Hermione, and Dean instead of Justin Finch-Fletchley.

It was all well and good, until Ron snapped suddenly " _Hey!"_ and Hermione gasped as he and Dean just managed to catch Hope as she careened sideways in a dead faint.

("Good riddance," Ernie muttered on the opposite side, making Hannah dig her elbow into his side, annoyed)

"Miss Potter!" Professor Sprout just barely managed to revive her as everyone peered over her limp body. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh…whatever sandwich Dean forced me to," Hope replied tiredly.

Dean gaped. "Hope…that was like _four days ago!"_

"I'm trying not to get murdered," Hope slurred, "I've got shit to do."

Professor Sprout sighed heavily. "Mr. Weasley, would you mind taking your friend up to Madam—?"

 _"No!"_ Hope snapped, her eyes shooting open. "I'm fine, I can do this." She still used Ron's shoulder to pull her upright. "I don't need anyone to make allowances for me…I'm here to work."

And if there was one thing Hufflepuffs prized, it was determination and hard work.

Professor Sprout considered her, less frostily than she had before. "All right…if you faint again, though, you've got a one-way ticket to Madam Pomfrey."

Hope nodded seriously, managing to stay with it enough to get through the class to see George waiting for her outside, carrying a container of food, like he'd known that was what she needed.

"Baby, you're the best," Hope vowed, kissing one of George's pink cheeks soundly. They both ignored the kissy-noises her classmates made.

Hermione cleared her throat before Hope and George could get lost in each other's eyes - _per usual._ "We'll talk to you later, Hope…Morea's chamber?"

Hope blinked, drawing back slightly from melting into George's arms. "Yeah, all right," she decided, mentally counting the number of hours she had left to study before then.

She allowed George to coax her into sitting on a nearby bench, watching her practically devour the shepherd's pie.

"I may have forgotten to eat much the past few days," she admitted thickly, watching the concern bloom across his face. "I'm all right, I'm just trying to cram my brain with spells before the first task." Which was hard enough when you were trying to limit the amount of magic you used so you didn't end up vomiting up blood, but she wasn't about to admit that to anyone, not even Dean, who was having enough suspicions about her after what Selenar had said.

"Are you going to keep forgetting to eat?" he asked quietly and Hope paused, thinking about how light-headed she'd been in class.

"Probably not," she admitted. "It's a bit… _counterproductive."_

George snorted faintly. "You don't say?"

Hope rolled her eyes, swallowing the last of the food. "Don't you have class this hour?"

"I skipped." George shrugged, shooting her a look. "I stopped by McGonagall's…she told me about how you're doing most of your classes out of class while you, uh, prepare for the tournament."

"Yeah," Hope groaned. "I'm have a grand 'ole time."

George didn't smile. "Love." He took her hands, making her turn towards him. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a while…so I don't distract while you prepare?"

"You _are_ pretty distracting," Hope admitted with pink cheeks, to which he grinned. "Oh, _shut up_ …you and your _eyes_ and _freckles_ and _freaking tallness—"_

"You like all of those things." George's eyes were glittering and Hope turned red.

"What? _Me?_ Psh!" She flicked a hand, laughing airily before giving it up halfway through. "Absolutely." And she grabbed him, dragging into a quick kiss, sighing against his mouth. "You would do that for me?"

"Well, I kind of like having a living girlfriend," George gave her a half-smile that didn't quite meet his eyes and they both fell silent for a moment.

Hope cupped his cheek, giving the opposite one a small kiss. _"I love you_ …keep Fred in trouble, yeah?"

"Always," George promised even as she slipped from his grasp.

* * *

How the rumor spread that Hope Potter and George Weasley were either taking a break or had broken up was something else entirely and neither were impressed by people asking them about it or trying to ask them out.

Luckily, Hope was a pariah again and wasn't around nearly as much, so her options were limited, but George had no such luck.

(They were both counting down the days until the first task was done and over with)

* * *

Ron and Hermione had been waiting not all that long when Hope's head poked out from behind a tapestry on the back wall.

"Wow," she said, making them jump, "you guys don't waste any time, huh?"

Hermione jumped into it immediately. "Oh, you must be so _worried_ , Hope! What are you doing to prepare? Can we help? Why aren't you in any classes? Who was that woman and how did she get into Hogwarts? Who do you think put you in—?"

Hope took the bowl of soup that Ron had evidently brought just for her, the silent support a breath of relief.

"The woman's name is Selenar," Hope said finally, "apparently she's Sylvar's sister."

Hermione and Ron winced sympathetically, remembering clearly how broken up Hope had been that day…in a lot of ways she still was. Quiet misery that you couldn't always see tended to linger.

"Apparently she works for a god who wanted to make me an offer," Hope shrugged helplessly. "But I'll figure out my problems on my own."

Hermione frowned in confusion, opening her mouth to ask a question, but Ron cut a look her way; Hope wasn't open about many things and he was pretty sure that didn't even rank on the list.

Hope cleared her throat. "I'm not in most classes because someone kindly convinced Professor McGonagall to let me focus more of my time on advanced spells and curses for the first task. I'm still doing homework and stuff, but you won't see me back for…awhile." She scratched her cheek awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Is the task why you've moved your stuff out of Gryffindor Tower?" Ron asked instead. He wasn't allowed up into the girls' dormitory, but he'd heard all about it -Parvati and Lavender weren't quiet- and Hope started in surprise.

"I'd rather not deal with a bloodbath," she said instead, remembering the disdain from her fellow classmates during Herbology. "Besides, it's quieter here."

No one to hear her wake up from her nightmares, more likely.

"How's Dean?" she asked suddenly. She hadn't gotten much of a chance to see him, let alone speak with him, even in Herbology.

"Worried," Ron said, crossing his arms. "Quiet. He'll muddle through."

It was Ron, perhaps more than anyone, who had a full measure of the person Hope was, who didn't need to search for as many answers as Hermione did.

Hazel met blue. "And you?" Hope asked, not quite frowning, but not quite _not._

"I'll muddle through," Ron hummed. "We both will…as long as you promise to eat and let us help you if you need it."

Hermione nodded profusely.

She couldn't help but sigh heavily. "You guys are going to hawk me until I agree, aren't you?"

Hermione's smile was too sharp and Ron's eyes too hard. "That's what we do."

But Hope's smile actually reached her eyes.

(Later, Ron Weasley would be able to pinpoint exactly when things began to change, when three school children looked at the lots that had been drawn for them and realized the only trajectory would lead them towards battle)

* * *

"Do you know what this meeting is for?" Hope asked Fleur as they descended the stairs, heading for the classroom that they had been told to enter into. She'd been pulled out of Potions not a moment too soon, because another second and Hope was sure she'd snap.

Snape had been more brutal than usual lately and Hope had really tried to get out of his class, but Professor McGonagall had put her foot down, insisting there wasn't a way to skip something that important to her education, like Hope hadn't compiled a list of times he'd failed her for no reason the previous year.

(McGonagall had inherited Dumbledore's unfortunate habit of forgiving too many times)

"No," she said in her throaty voice, watching Hope carefully, and she knew why. Hope had almost exploded only a few hours earlier when Hermione had been hit with a spell that had caused her front teeth to grow past her chin. All because Malfoy had tried to curse Hope behind her back and had missed. "'Ow eez 'Ermione?"

Hope exhaled a long, slow sigh. "Much better than she was before…she had Madam Pomfrey go a little further on her teeth so they're now the size she wants them to be."

"Zhat's good," Fleur said imploringly as they pushed open the door.

"Ah, there they are!" Bagman beamed as they entered, the smile completely encompassing his face. "Champions three and four! In you come, ladies, in you come…nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment—"

"Wand weighing ceremony?" Hope said in confusion. She was so cut-off from almost everyone at this point that it was a miracle she even knew anything about the tournament. "What've we got to have our wands weighed for?"

"Oh, it's nothing like that!" Bagman chortled. "We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead. The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter. She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the _Daily Prophet_..."

Hope tried not to visibly gag, but she was sure the expression on her face was full of contempt.

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," the witch commented, eyeing Hope in speculation. Hope wasn't sure what she'd been expecting but she didn't think the tight blonde curls, jeweled spectacles, and long red nails was anything close to what she'd imagined.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Hope before we start? The youngest champion, you know...to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" Bagman was eager to agree. "That is –if Hope has no objection?"

"I'm not going near that woman without a knife," Hope said firmly, almost reaching behind her to where the knife Mirror Lady gave her was holstered under glamour, "and I'm certainly not telling you anything."

"Dear," Rita said in a voice that dripped with saccharine, eyes glittering malevolently, clearly not used to rejection, "I'm afraid you don't quite understand the point—"

"You slandered my mother's name months before her wedding," Hope said coldly, "I don't need to understand the _point_ to have _standards."_

And then she practically steered Fleur to Cedric who had been watching the exchange with interest.

"How are you, Cedric?" Hope asked him loudly. "I haven't heard from you since the school decided to nuke me from orbit."

Cedric gave her an embarrassed smile, vaguely confused by the phrase but not commenting on it. "Uh, hey, Hope, how've you been?"

"Studying enough advanced spells to make my brain bleed and hope I don't die, how about you?" Hope asked dryly.

"Getting there," Cedric admitted before faltering slightly, "look, I'm sorry my house is giving you a hard time, and I can talk to George, you know, about—"

"Thanks," Hope said stiffly, "but I don't think I need anyone _else_ trying to tell me how my love life should be going."

Cedric grimaced and Fleur's eyes flicked between them, feeling the awkward tension. Viktor Krum, who'd been brooding in the corner, gave no indication that he was listening to them conversing until someone cleared their throat.

It had been Dumbledore who was now standing behind what must have been the judges' table, including the people that would evidently be judging the respective champions on what they did in the tasks: himself, Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman.

Mr. Crouch wasn't looking too well but Hope couldn't find it in her to care.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" Dumbledore said, smiling at them all. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

She couldn't help but be surprised it was Mr. Ollivander and not someone else that the Ministry employed, like Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman. Of course, there was no denying he knew his craft, if how he remembered each wand he'd ever had was any indication, so it made sense, she supposed.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" Mr. Ollivander asked as he stepped into the light, making his pale hair seem much more wild than usual.

Fleur arched a pale eyebrow, but she still moved forward to give him her wand.

He held it gingerly, before winding it in his fingers, pink and gold sparks bursting from the tip. "Ah, yes," he said, intently focused on the wand, "nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…" He sounded very surprised, heightening Hope's curiosity.

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," Fleur explained with a hint of a smile. "One of my grandmuzzer's." So, that would make her only a fourth of a Veela. Hope remembered what they'd been like at the Cup.

"Yes," Mr. Ollivander agreed, "yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands...however, to each his own, and if this suits you…"

"Eet does," she said firmly, her eyes glinting as if daring him to say otherwise.

He hummed in agreement, examining with the tips of his fingers rather briefly before saying an incantation, _"Orchideous!"_ A dozen beautiful orchids burst forth, which he handed to Fleur graciously with her wand. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order. Mr. Diggory, you next…ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?"

He seemed to brighten visibly at the familiarity of a wand of his own creation. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn...must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition...You treat it regularly?"

Hope arched an eyebrow and stared. When had anyone ever said that they needed to clean their wand? She looked down at her own in the arm holster Sirius had gotten her, but doubted it would have made a difference with its rough texture.

Murmuring a soft spell after Cedric had agreed to his question, Mr. Ollivander jabbed the wand and a number of smoke rings issued from it as though it was a pipe. "It is in good order…Mr. Krum, if you please."

Looking as surly as ever, Viktor Krum shoved his wand at the wand-maker in a get-it-over-with manner.

"Hm," she could hear the awe in his voice as he took it from the Quidditch player, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I...however..." He fell silent briefly as he inspected it. "Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees...quite rigid...ten and a quarter inches... _Avis!"_

Hope winced at the blast of noise the wand created, which was strange, considering the spell created about seven small birds that fluttered around them before escaping through either the door or the cracked window.

"Good," he said, returning the wand to Viktor, "very good…Which leaves...Miss Potter."

Hope inclined her head as she moved to stand before him, pulling her wand out of the holster and extending it to him. He smiled once her wand was in his hand once more. His fingers automatically roved over its surfaces as if searching for differences from when he'd given it to her to the condition it was in currently; Hope could only hope that it passed inspection.

Mr. Ollivander's eyes gleamed. "Aaaah, yes," he said quietly, "yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."

Hope remembered it too. She remembered how small and nervous she had been, her rings sliding on her thin fingers. She remembered how she went through over a dozen wands before this one chose her as its master. She had seen the wands in the display cases and the ones she had tried and none of them looked the type for her. In other words, they were too clean cut, too delicately carved, and,well, that wasn't really her style.

She had been more than relieved that the wand that had chosen her more closely resembled a branch that had been roughly and haphazardly carved.

And she remembered clearly the look of surprise on Mr. Ollivander's face when the silver sparks had erupted from its tip. She had asked him about it, of course, and had been shocked to discover that the phoenix tail feather in her wand had come from the same phoenix as Voldemort's. Of course, that was nothing compared to finding out she was actually related to the bastard. She struggled not to shiver; some things people could do without knowing. She had never told anyone about that, she had never felt the need and she wasn't sure that she ever would.

It was just one thing on a list of things she'd probably never tell anyone.

"Cypress," Mr. Ollivander murmured, "eleven inches, phoenix feather core…very resistant…"

Hope frowned as sparks burst from the end, spinning into a dazzling crescent moon.

"In perfect condition," he assured her pressing it into her palm with a kind smile. "Do take care of it, Miss Potter."

"I will," Hope assured him, despite not liking to use her wand, feeling a bit bemused as she watched him go.

"Thank you all." Hope blinked a few times, directing her attention towards Dumbledore as he stood, sweeping around the table, his eyes twinkling. "You may go back to your lessons now –or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end—"

Hope was all for that, but then Bagman had to go and bring up the damned photos! Could the day get any worse? Hope silenced a groan at the predatory gleam in Rita Skeeter's eyes.

_Probably._

* * *

Hermione had gone behind her back and written to Sirius, _the traitor._ But Hope had a hard time feeling too annoyed when she saw how white Hermione was when she'd tried to explain herself, how terrified she was for Hope. She probably wouldn't have gone to Hermione's parents behind her back if she was worried, though, mostly because she didn't think they liked her as much now.

She'd burst into tears when Hope had hugged her silently and told her it was okay.

Ron had been the one to pass on that Hagrid wanted Hope to meet him at midnight, shrugging helplessly when Hope frowned. But now, Hope felt as though her brain had already turned to mush, whether it was from the sheer amount of studying she was doing, or from seeing the four dragons that they were all going to have to face in just a few days.

(It was the just a few days part that was going to kill her, she just knew it)

She'd left early enough, almost running into Karkaroff on her way out of the forest, and since Madame Maxime had been with Hagrid, that meant that only Cedric wasn't in the know. Which wasn't very fair, but Hope didn't really have the time to think about it as she booked it up to Morea's chamber, barely making it.

"You all right?" Ron asked in concern as she threw off the cloak and fell onto the couch to regain her breathing.

"Dragons," Hope rasped. "Fucking _dragons."_

Hermione paled. "Oh. _Oh, no."_

"Yeah, I'm screwed," Hope muttered, before looking to the fire and gasping _"Sirius!"_

Sirius Black's head was in the fireplace, flickering in the fire and it was deeply unnerving. Now all she needed was to see Nath's in one and she'd be set for 'godfathers heads on fire'. "You look like hell," he told her.

"Thanks," Hope said dryly, "I'm only studying defensive and offensive magic until my brain bleeds."

The fire couldn't conceal his concern as he seriously asked. "How are you?"

Hope thought about telling him everything, about how her life was a total mess, how George was so worried that he was staying away to keep her mind focused, how she wasn't in most of her classes, how she was barely sleeping as it was, that she knew at least two people were going to die this year but that neither of them were her.

But the truth caught in her throat.

"I'm surviving," she said finally, which was still technically true, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. "Sirius, the first task is against a dragon…how in the name of Hades do I beat a dragon?"

"Dragons we can deal with, Hope, but we'll get to that in a minute," he assured her, "I haven't got long here…I've broken into a Wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"What're you talking about?" Hope asked, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion, an expression that she shared with Ron and Hermione, keeping quiet for Hope's sake. "I doubt there's anything worse than facing a dragon."

"Karkaroff is definitely worse," Sirius informed her flatly, "he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"I mean, of course," Hope rolled her eyes faintly, "but—you're sure? I mean, he's a headmaster now—"

"Oh, I'm _sure,"_ Sirius said, his voice a little cold, "his cell was near mine in Azkaban, but he got released. I'd bet anything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year –to keep an eye on him. Moody's the one that caught Karkaroff, you see, he's the reason why he was thrown in Azkaban in the first place."

"That must be why he looks so terrified of him every time they're in the same room," Hope mused, remembering catching Karkaroff hightailing away from Moody when she was hastening to Potions class, "but how did he get released? I didn't think that was possible."

"It's very rare," Sirius admitted, "but he claimed that he's seen the errors of his ways and then he gave the Ministry names of known Death Eaters…it made him quite _unpopular._ And you'll want to keep an eye on Durmstrang's champion; those students have been learning the Dark Arts since he became headmaster."

Hope wrinkled her nose. Viktor didn't seem too bad, granted, they hadn't actually talked much to begin with. "Okay, keep an eye on Karkaroff, keep an eye on Viktor, anything else?"

"You mustn't take this lightly, Hope," Sirius warned, "these tasks are dangerous, even more so now with devils within the walls."

"I _know_ ," Hope hissed with annoyance, "I'm the only one who seems to be worried about, you know, the _possibly dying bit."_

Everyone else was excited, as far as Hope could tell…at least she knew none of them would be dying for certain, so there was that.

"Tetchy," Ron muttered, but Hermione didn't smile.

"Not a good joke," Sirius retorted.

"I'm not laughing," Hope replied, voice and eyes hard. If there was someone who understood death better than most, it was Hope.

The silence between them awkward and uncomfortable and Sirius cleared his throat. "Anyways, I've been trying to keep an eye on the Daily Prophet, Hope—"

"Isn't everyone?" Hope grumbled under her breath. Rita Skeeter had found out about her and George's relationship and was throwing things way out of context because he was a couple years older than her and about their supposed breakup. The whole thing was ridiculous, because George was only two years older than her and clearly very into her and Hope didn't have eyes for anyone else.

(Besides, there were some people that dated other people a full decade younger than them, how, _honestly_ , was that better than a fourteen year old and sixteen year old dating?)

"—and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month," Sirius said, speaking over her, "Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm, but I don't think so. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"You think it was Karkaroff, then?" Hope asked. "But why? Why would he want to kill me?"

"Why did Rookwood try to kill you last year?" Sirius offered and Hope rubbed at the scar along her throat and conceded the point. "But I have heard some strange things about the Death Eaters…they've been more active than usual. Why else would they have shown themselves so callously at the Quidditch World Cup? And-did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"

"Er…" Hope racked her memory. "Bertha Jorkins, wasn't it?" The same one that Voldemort and Pettigrew had talked about.

"Yes. She disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but what are the chances that she actually ran into Voldemort there?" Ron tried to reason and Hope winced.

"Listen," Sirius said lowly, "I knew Bertha Jorkins. She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above me. And she was an _idiot._ Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Hope. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."

Hope pressed a hand to her brow briefly, running her fingers into her hair. She didn't have the time for this. She was facing a dragon in a few days.

And yet…it was still more information that she was usually trusted with, far better than Dumbledore telling her she wasn't ready to understand, like he knew Hope better than she knew herself.

_Asshole._

"I know this isn't what you really want to hear," Sirius said seriously, "but you've got to know."

"No, I get it," Hope said heavily, "and I appreciate it, I _really_ do." It just wasn't as high on her priority list. Sirius was one of the few people that hadn't treated her like a child who should have limited access to the world around her. Nath was like that too, but his solution was to hand her weapons and show her how to suture wounds.

"The more you know, the better prepared you'll be," Sirius said reasonably, "but I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Death by dragon seems like a good plan," Hope agreed tiredly.

"Right, these dragons, don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell," Sirius warned, "dragons are too strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon—" He fell silent quickly. "Someone's coming, I've got to go—"

_"Sirius!"_

But he had gone, leaving Hope with a smoldering fireplace. And Hope was going to have to figure this out without him.

"Let's worry about Karkaroff later," Hermione advised. "We need to focus on keeping you alive past Tuesday…tell us about the dragons."

Hope was starting to get a headache and before she had time to blink, there was a potion in her hand. She looked at the swirling purple fluid. "What's this?"

"Headache potion," Ron said with a small smile. "George made it for you; said you weren't looking hot the last time he saw you."

He really was one of a kind. Hope looked at the potion, blinking furiously. "You know…your brother is the sweetest person I've ever met," she said thickly.

"I know," Ron said kindly and Hope swallowed down the potion. "Let's focus on keeping you alive long enough to tell him that, yeah?"

Hope nodded quickly, rubbing at her eyes and clearing her throat. "Right, the dragons, four of them, I don't remember what types they were, but Charlie said—"

"Charlie was there?" Ron asked in surprise before giving himself a mental shake. "What'm I talking about, of course he was there, he's probably got some of the most experience—"

"What did Charlie say?" Hermione asked instead, cutting across Ron.

"He said they wanted nesting mothers and he wasn't sure why…" Hope cupped her chin thoughtfully.

 _"Oooh_ ," Ron grimaced suddenly, making both girls look to him, "it's just that dragons that are nesting are incredibly territorial. The scar Charlie's got on his arm was from one; Mum was apoplectic for weeks. Did they have actual eggs?"

"Yeah, because Charlie told Hagrid that he had them all counted," Hope snorted and the other two joined in.

"So, it's likely you'll have to steal something from a dragon," Hermione theorized. "That sounds… _terrifying."_

"And if it takes ten wizards to stun one, you're out of luck," Ron said seriously, before noticing the dreamy, distant look on Hope's face. "What're you thinking?"

"There's no need to overpower a dragon if you can outsmart it," she said thoughtfully, "would a dragon be able to see through an invisibility spell?"

Hermione paused and stared. "That's actually…pretty _brilliant."_

She and Hope looked to Ron. "I doubt it," he said finally.

 _"Good,"_ Hope smirked.

* * *

The Disillusionment charm was incredibly advanced and Hope only got it to work about halfway even though she, Hermione, and Ron practiced through the night before both passed out from exhaustion. Ron was still slumped with his mouth open in the armchair while Hermione was curled up on a corner of the couch, and Hope felt like she was on fire.

Hope had used too much magic, the kind that Professor Lipson had warned her about. She was so stupid, but it wasn't like she could get away with under-practicing when Ron and Hermione there and she really didn't want to tell them.

She stumbled into the bathroom, her body tremoring uncontrollably and vomiting immediately into the toilet. Then her body stiffened, dropping her to the floor, before her arms and legs began to jerk uncontrollably.

Everything whited out and the next thing Hope knew, she was coming to hazily, the jerking slowing to a stop as she struggled to regulate her breathing.

"One stop short of niffin-ing out is having a seizure," Quinn had told her once. "That's the key sign that you need to stop working your magic. You have a seizure, _you call me_ , got it?"

Hope had nodded then, but now she was just thinking she'd procrastinate on that until after the whole first task was over and done with.

She laid there for the longest time before she felt strong enough to pull herself up and turn on the shower, trying not to think about what Quinn said, about Niffins.

Just as long as she didn't use magic for the next twelve hours, she should be okay…now all she had to do was chase down Cedric and try not to taste the bile when she saw _it_ hanging over him, the promise of his certain death.

That hurt the most.

Hope left the chamber quietly, with her friends still fast asleep and none the wiser, intent on the Hufflepuff common room, fortunately coming across Cedric leaving early to meet Cho, if his bright eyes were any indication.

(Hope tried not to be bitter about not seeing her boyfriend for nearly a month in preparation for the task, a luxury that Cedric was evidently afforded, not needed to get a grasp of three years of advanced Spellwork in that amount of time)

"Cedric!"

He looked back in startled surprise. "Hope, what're you doing here?"

"The first task," Hope gasped as she came to a stop beside him, skidding slightly in her haste, "it's dragons, Cedric."

"It's– _what?"_ Cedric asked, stunned.

"Dragons," Hope repeated, probably looking as ill as she felt, "one for each of us. I saw them in the forest. You're the only one that doesn't know; Madame Maxime and Karkaroff were there, so they'll have told Fleur and Viktor by now."

Cedric hesitated. "But why'd you tell me?"

Hope could understand his suspicion, and she was far too tired to be annoyed about it. "I'm leveling the playing field, take it or leave it."

And then she was gone, returning to Morea's chamber and falling asleep on the part of the couch Hermione had left open and for the first time in a long time, she slept without dreams.

* * *

George was about to be caught. It was harder to sneak around after hours without the Marauder's Map, but not impossible, and he might've been fast but Snape was going to catch up to him.

Then a hand shot out, yanking him into a crevice that a suit of armor neatly sidestepped to block him from view.

Hope was a sight for sore eyes, still looking more pale and tired than he'd seen her lately, but he drank her in.

He opened his mouth to say something, probably point out that Snape was on his trail, but his brain shorted out when Hope dragged him down into a kiss. His eyes slid shut and her fingers tangled in his hair while his wrapped tight around her waist, dragging her impossibly close.

Snape's sharp footsteps echoed, coming to a stop, but the suit of armor gave a sudden wheeze to cover any noise either of them could've made. His steps moved away and Hope pulled back to grin widely.

"Georgie, _Georgie,_ what have you been _doing_ to get Snape chasing you down?"

George gave her a half smile, the pockets of his robes clinking against the wall. "I'm innocent, your honor."

Hope's eyes gleamed. "Yeah, baby, you _look_ innocent."

He grinned as she searched his pockets, pulling out some vials. "Hm…fairy wings, boomslang skin, Lethe River Water, Jobberknoll feathers…raiding Snape's stash, were you?"

George's grin broadened. "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

"That's hot," Hope admitted easily, standing on the tips of her toes to press a light kiss under his jaw, which made him swallow thickly.

"You say that every time I break the rules," George pointed out as Hope replaced his pilfered bottles.

"Hm, because you breaking the rules is _hot_ ," Hope winked briefly before her face fell slightly and George wound his arms around her easily, kissing the top of her head.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

Hope sighed. "Yes and no. But I'm not dying tomorrow," she said with an air of finality that some found as unnerving as her unwavering stare, like she knew something they didn't, something terribly tragic that she could never speak aloud. "I've got a plan; I just hope it works."

She grimaced. She had a lot of interesting spells under her belt, but she hoped she didn't need more than the disillusionment charm.

George cupped her cheek. "Going to try to get some decent sleep before the task?"

Hope laughed. "Decent sleep? Nah, I've still got some practicing to do…I'll see you tomorrow, baby."

She leaned up to kiss his cheek lightly and George loosened his grip on her enough to let her slip away, sinking into the shadows like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The suit of armor they'd been hiding behind gave a wheezing sort of chuckle and George banged against its visor. "Oh, _shut up."_

* * *

"She's going to _kill us."_

"Eh," Quinn waved their girlfriend off. "Worse comes to worst, I can travel us to another world to start over."

Diane gave them an unimpressed look as they walked around at Hogwarts. There was tension and excitement in the air and the distinct roar of a dragon in the distance. She could see why Hope hadn't said a word about it; Diane was scared as _shit._

Instead she'd gone to Kingsley, Henry Fogg's wizard husband.

Diane tried not to be annoyed about it, but then she saw Hope. Hermione was hugging her tightly and Ron clapped her shoulder, but Diane couldn't help but compare her to the three taller and much older champions. They were all pale and tense, but Hope was resigned; it was a familiar feeling, Diane was sure, Hope being disadvantaged.

And somehow Hope looked like the only one up to the task.

She wasn't wearing robes like the others -why would you when that shit could get caught on just about everything?-, instead she wore the gleaming green-scaled basilisk jacket, zipped shut all the way to her throat, her dark hair in a crown braid, plaited tight to keep it out of her way, the holster on her arm holding her wand, while the one belted at her back held a knife.

It was a strange thing indeed when the youngest looks the most prepared.

She had a stony look on her face, even when Dean hugged her tightly, whispering something in her ear that made Hope nod seriously into his shoulder.

They only parted when some woman snapped a picture of them. Diane couldn't hear what was said, just that the woman had a sharp, ringing voice, but Hope and Dean were both glaring daggers. She wondered if that was the same woman who'd insinuated Hope's mother's pregnancy years before she actually had Hope.

"Ah, Quinn, Diane, so lovely to see you."

Diane and Quinn both turned to see Henry Fogg on the arm of his husband, smiling broadly. He was dressed to the nines and looked little more than arm candy for Kingsley, wearing traditional Nigerian robes that he could _never_ not look amazing in, something that had always aggravated Quinn.

"Dean Arm-Candy," Quinn bared their teeth at their boss before turning to Kingsley. "King, I honestly don't know how you put up with him."

Kingsley smiled. "He has certain qualities that I enjoy."

Quinn turned to Diane, stage-whispering "He means he looks good naked."

Henry laughed while Diane rolled her eyes. She hadn't interacted with Henry since leaving Brakebills, but seeing him as a husband was as amusing as if was startling. He was warmer and… _touchy_ , enjoying Kingsley at his side and having an arm around him.

"Best find good seats," Kingsley said loudly, taking Henry's hand. "Come along, _dear."_

The crowd of children was growing and Quinn knew there was a reason they taught at a graduate university. They linked hands with Diane, weaving through the crowd to reach the stands surrounding a rocky terrain.

"Ah, the baby for my baby, how are you, sweetheart?" Diane asked immediately after sliding into the stands beside George who jumped violently before twisting to gape at the pair.

"Who's that?" one of the girls asked beside his twin, but George blurted out "Miss Diane, Quinn—what're you doing here?"

Quinn smirked, sliding their yellow-lensed glasses down slightly -it took a lot of effort, they were sure, not to flinch in surprise at the empty hole where one of their eyes was supposed to be. "A little birdie told us someone got in over their head at school…how's our girl been, Weasley?"

"Um," George blinked, "well we've kinda been taking a break, so, you know, she doesn't _die."_

They both stared at him.

"You know, I admire that in a man," Diane replied agreeably with a smile, "knowing when to step back and not be a distraction."

George turned pink, standing out on his stark white cheeks, the freckles doing little to hide how pale he was. " _Uh,_ thanks…I think?"

Quinn snorted before they all quieted at the sound of a sudden cannon and they watched as a dragon was dragged into the ring, chained before a nest of eggs, one of which was a golden egg.

"That's inhumane," Diane muttered to Quinn.

"That's wizards for you," Quinn hummed.

The first was a boy named Cedric Diggory, apparently the Hogwarts favorite, being the original champion before Hope's name had been pulled -Dean had said it had been pretty nasty and Hope hadn't actually been in most lessons for nearly a month and wasn't even sleeping in the tower- and he did an impressive charm to get past his dragon, transfiguring a rock into a dog to distract the dragon, and it worked, mostly, but getting his egg cost him a few bad burns that had Diane wincing. The second was the girl from Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour, who tried a different route by making her dragon go to sleep, which Quinn thought was honestly the smartest. Then the Durmstrang boy, Viktor Krum, tried a more violent approach, shooting the dragon in the eye.

He lost points for trampling on the actual dragon eggs.

Then it was Hope's turn, and her dragon looked downright terrifying. Black scales and yellow eyes, spikes along its tail…Quinn wouldn't want to face that.

And then Hope stepped out into the enclosure, wand tight in her grip.

Diane clutched Quinn's hand tightly as the dragon fixed its eyes on her.

Hope twisted her wand. " _Caeco Scintilla!"_

Light burst and shattered like white sparks all around, blinding everyone, including the dragon, that reared up and roared. Hope darted behind a rock, murmuring a spell and tapping the top of her head and a moment later, she'd vanished, leaving the dragon to peer around, its great yellow eyes searching and searching.

"Why, that was startling!" the commentator declared. "But—where is our last champion?"

Murmurs spread and spread through the stands like fire.

"Maybe she ran?" Someone laughed. " _Coward!"_

There were a few more jeers and Quinn snorted loudly. "Nice to see that wizards haven't changed much…they're still as narrow-minded as ever."

They patted George's shoulder kindly. "Not you of course, tinkerer, but you're in the minority."

George was totally confused. "What d'you mean?"

Quinn waved off his confusion. "What I mean, is she's still there, you just can't see her." They handed him their spelled glasses and George took them, looking through them with a gasp.

Because there she was, her body shimmering with the effect of whatever spell she'd cast, clear through the glasses, invisible without it.

"That's… _brilliant,"_ he gaped.

"I don't believe this; Miss Potter is using a Disillusionment Charm!"

Nobody could see what was going on, but that didn't matter; everyone was watching on bated breath.

While, in the ring, Hope was edging forward cautiously, her eyes flicking between the dragon and the golden egg. There was one spell she knew that could get her the egg in record time, but she'd have to drop her Disillusionment Charm in order to use it -casting multiple spells at once wasn't even taught until year seven- and she wanted to be closer…

Its eyes snapped to her and Hope swallowed. No time like the present.

She dropped the charm and shouted " _Aqua Eructo_!" aiming her wand at the snout of the dragon that opened wide to expel flames. A thick jet of water burst from the tip, putting out the fire and leaving its mouth smoking, gagging slightly on the force of the water.

"Oh! This is something we haven't seen yet!" Bagman cried. "Not sure if it'll work!"

Hope's feet blurred to action as she leapt onto a rock, spreading her feet evenly, performing a complicated twist with her hand. _"Flagellum!"_ she breathed and a whip coiled from the end of her wand, cracking in the air as she snapped it forward to wrap around the golden egg, giving a sharp tug and dragging it through the air towards her.

Hope let out an " _Oof!"_ as it collided with her chest, knocking her back off the rock, skidding on the ground and missing another burst of fire before the dragon handlers dived in to subdue the dragon.

She sat up on the ground, winded but successful, clutching her wand and the egg tightly and praying she didn't have another seizure, because that would be really awkward in front of her school and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

For a moment, nothing happened, just the roaring of her blood in her ears, which could've been the dragon, she realized, but it dawned on her that the roaring was actually coming from the stands.

The crowd thundered around her, screaming and yelling in euphoria, but Hope was still in a bit of a stage of shock as she stumbled to stand before the noise, it was only then that it truly dawned upon her that she had actually _done it!_ She had gone against a dragon and collected a golden egg…it seemed so ridiculous, but she had _done it!_

"Look at that!" Bagman's voice blared over the crowd. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get her egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds against Miss Potter!"

Professor McGonagall, Moody, and Hagrid were moving swiftly towards her with beaming smiles on their faces. Hope was more surprised when Professor McGonagall hugged her.

"That was _excellent_ , Potter! Very advanced magic for your age! I am very impressed! The time out of class served you well!"

Hope flushed with pleasure at the compliment.

"Are you injured, Potter?" Professor McGonagall looked over Hope, briefly admiring the basilisk jacket as Hope replaced her wand in its holster.

"No," Hope said, looking over herself as well. Her back ached a little from her skid, but Hope didn't mind a few bruises. She assumed some of the other champions weren't as lucky, but Hope was riding on a new high as she left the arena to be immediately met by Hermione and Ron shouting boisterously.

"You did it!" Hermione shrieked, pale-faced and clearly having been clutching her cheeks so hard that her nails had dug in. "I can't believe—"

"—And that thing with the whip—" Ron added, excitement bright, making the motion with his hand. "— _amazing!"_

Hope grinned, sharp and reckless and completely unearthly in a way that would only be pointed out years later, and then she saw him.

"Hold this, will you?" She asked, not really sure who to direct it towards, but one of them took the egg, so they got her meaning and Ron huffed a small snort as she peeled away to throw her arms around George, who hugged her so tight that he lifted her off the ground. His shoulders were stiff with tension but she still burrowed her face into one, feeling more at home than ever.

And if his arms trembled slightly, she'd never say.

Hope leaned her head back to kiss him so suddenly, and with so much enthusiasm, that George nearly lost his grip on her. Neither of them noticed Fred guffawing loudly or the wolf whistles and hollers or even Dean complaining loudly "C'mon, guys, in fucking _public…"_

They parted and Hope's feet made it back to the ground, eyes gleaming impossibly dark and it was as though the month apart never happened.

There was a throat clearing behind her and a familiar voice that said "I see that being out of your classes certainly paid off."

And Hope twisted around to stare. "Kingsley!" Then she took in the man beside him. "Uh, Dean Fogg? And— _Mum?"_

The word absolutely slipped out as soon as she'd caught sight of Diane and Quinn traipsing over and before she could apologize, Diane was streaking forward, eyes slightly misted by the switch from Diane to Mum to embrace Hope tightly.

Neither of them spoke of it, but they'd gotten past that point a long time ago…Hope calling Dean her brother, Hope having a place at their table and a bed in their house.

"What're you doing here?" Hope asked, gaping, before realization dawned. "Wait…Dean ratted me out…that _bastard!"_

She glared and Dean vanished on the spot, which George thought was wise. "Yeah, _you better run_ , mister! Why are all my friends blabbing to my family?"

Hermione pinked behind her and George surmised she was the other culprit.

The second man, a bald man with dark skin and a kind smile held a hand out to George. "You must be George, the husband?"

Fred died of laughter beside George, which he didn't really appreciate. "Uh, yeah, I guess," George sighed, shaking it.

"Henry Fogg," he offered kindly, "Mari's been carrying tales about your ability to create magic…tell me, have you and your brother actually managed to contain a storm in a bottle?"

George and Fred looked to Hope, but she wasn't listening, telling Quinn something that made their face frown, asking her a few serious questions in reply.

"Yeah, we've managed that, once," Fred admitted, eager to share with someone clearly interested. "We're working on replicating it, but a lot of our products are more…transfiguring sweets."

"Hm, interesting," Henry Fogg mused, "I can think of a lot of students that would be interested in that."

"Dear, try not to get into too much trouble," the Auror at his side reminded. George remembered him as one of the ones to come and interrogate Hope and Dean after they'd been attacked. "I know their father."

"Whatever you say, my love," Henry Fogg said smoothly, but he cast a wink towards the boys. "Now, where is our resident meta-magician?"

"Looks like she took off with Quinn, looked serious," Kingsley said as he pulled his husband away.

"Who was that guy?" Fred asked George.

George looked after them for the longest moment. "I think he's the guy in charge of that school Hope's going to over the summer."

But where had Hope gone?

* * *

"How long did this seizure last?" Eleanor Lipson was looking through several lenses with an intense frown before setting it down and picking up a few stones, rotating them in her hand while the other smoothed through several poppers, hovering in the air before her. "Less than five minutes?"

"Um…" Hope wracked her brain for a moment. "I'm pretty sure…it wasn't that long."

"How bad is it?" Quinn asked quietly, arms crossed. "Lay it out, Ellie."

"Well…it's bad," Eleanor said carefully, opening her eyes. "You remember what I said about how your magic is like an infection?"

"Yeah?" Hope arched an eyebrow.

"It's worse than that…have you ever heard of something called the Virgo Blade?"

Quinn leaned off of the wall, startled. "That's a fictional knife, it's not real."

Hope looked from Quinn to Eleanor, totally confused. "What's the Virgo Blade?"

"It's a knife, a cursed knife," Eleanor amended, "one that causes rose vines to grow from the wound until eventually strangling your heart."

"Oh," Hope said flatly, looking down at her hands, "that's great. _Festive."_

Quinn shot her a look. "It's not a real knife—"

"Too bad," Hope muttered, "I'd like a knife like that."

"—I'm sure she's just using it to illustrate a point," Quinn continued like Hope hadn't spoken.

"I am," Eleanor agreed. "Marina. Your magic is everywhere in your body, it's invaded every system, it's the worst infection you can possibly imagine, and _worse,_ it's burning through your blood like nothing else. Your hemoglobin is at 5.0."

Hope stared as her assistant wheeled in an IV pole with a large bag of blood attached to it. "I'm guessing that's _not good."_

"Below 7 is when we transfuse," Eleanor said while her assistant took Hope's arm, neatly inserting an IV into her vein and connecting her to the blood tubing. "You have the worst case of Magically Induced Anemia that I've _ever seen."_

Hope watched the blood slowly drip. "How bad's the infection? It can't be treated with, I don't know, antibiotics?" She'd been on those before, after her accident.

Eleanor pursed her lips. "You remember when I said it was beyond my power to remove the magical core inserted in you?"

"Yeah, and to be careful about the number of spells I used and how much power—" Hope gave an airy wave of her hand.

"Which she _obviously_ didn't do," Quinn rolled their eye and Hope threw a scowl their way.

"Well, I didn't look deep enough, but the…threads, I suppose, of the magical core are entangled with your soul," Eleanor explained cautiously. "Even if I'd had the power to work the spell to remove it…it would've destroyed you. I don't even think a Mudang could even manage it, you'd need to find a willing—"

"God?" Hope offered tiredly.

Quinn and Eleanor shared a look. "Yes…but gods rarely do anything out of the kindness of their heart, if you made a deal with one, it could be _dangerous."_

Hope frowned. "Then, I'll try to figure this out on my own."

"Babe," Quinn's mouth was set in a straight line, "believe me when I say this, if something needs god-level power, _you aren't going to make the cut."_

Hope thought about her and Selenar, both telling her essentially the same thing, but Hope was tired, so tired of being told what to do. "I think I should be the judge of that."

Her eyes were hard and black, meeting Quinn's single one where their glasses had slid down.

Eleanor cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Well, in the meantime, frequent checks on your hemoglobin. Blood transfusion is better than blood replenisher potions, but while at school, I'd suggest carrying some on you at all times…but eventually the symptoms will become worse than some fatigue and headaches, you understand?"

Hope was used to dire straits. Her entire life was a dire strait. She could handle one more, and she didn't even care if Quinn didn't think so.

* * *

No one had really been expecting Hope to show up back into class anytime soon, even after the first task had passed. She'd gotten standing ovation from the school and Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Moody had all given her high marks for her magic use in the first class. Which basically meant that Hope got extra credit on the assignments she didn't do so hot on while cramming for the task.

Which some Slytherins had a few biting thoughts about it, but the school was back on Hope's side, which Hope didn't really care about either way; she'd slept for about two days straight without a single dream after the task and the only thing her friends had done was tuck blankets around her and leave a few snacks for her to eat when she woke up.

So, when she came through the door, dressed in her uniform, dark hair in a high bun, wand tucked in her arm holster, and bag at her side, the whole class came to a standstill.

"Sorry I'm late," Hope apologized quickly.

"Miss Potter," Professor McGonagall said swiftly, "glad to see you back in class."

Hope smiled easily. "Glad to be back, Professor." And then she slid into the empty seat beside Ron and Professor McGonagall returned to the topic of cross-species transfiguration and Hope pulled out a pen -having long discarded her quills- and started to take notes.

It was only when the class had ended that Professor McGonagall asked her to stay back a moment.

Hope frowned, approaching her desk. "Is this about me being late?"

"No, but I trust that won't be a habit," Professor McGonagall's expression was severe and Hope hadn't missed it in the past month or so that she hadn't been in class; Hope shook her head quickly. "You missed the beginning of the lesson, so I doubt you know about the Yule Ball."

Hope could already tell that this wasn't going to be a fun talk. "Sounds like something I'd like to avoid, to be honest." Balls and dress robes that Hope had to wear… _gag her with a spoon._

Professor McGonagall didn't smile. "You are required to attend, Miss Potter."

She couldn't help but groan. "C'mon, Professor, balls are _so—"_

"It's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament," Professor McGonagall explained.

"Traditional is just another word for old-fashioned," Hope griped. "Which means dress instead of suit, which is utterly _ridiculous_ …which is exactly how I'll look in a dress, Professor."

And that was exactly what she told Hermione and Ron several minutes later, annoyance clear.

"It's just a dinner and dance," Hermione tried to soothe her.

"That's not the point," Hope grated, feeling numbness in her leg and stopping to wait for it to shake off -Ron and Hermione pausing as well. "The point is _that looking a certain way_ , wearing dresses and whatever…I find that deeply uncomfortable."

Hermione opened her mouth only to pause and shut it, but Ron didn't question it, remembering how she'd looked when his mother had brought her dress into his room to show her.

"I know it sucks," he said carefully, "and that you don't have a lot of control in this situation…but what about a lesser of two evils…ask Quinn or your mum to get you a dress that suits you and is simultaneously threatening and or otherworldly." It was something she'd said to George before.

Hope looked like she was about to complain before mulling over what he said.

"Not that you don't already look otherworldly and threatening," he said quickly before muttering, "but George is probably _into that…"_

Hope glowered, pink-cheeked, and Hermione burst into giggles.

* * *

November passed quickly into December, and the only thing on almost anyone's mind was the Yule Ball, something Hope was dreading more with every passing day. She and George had already had a talk about it -and Quinn had sent her a far more suitable dress with a few scathing things about how backwards and tenth century the entire matter was, which Hope appreciated- and if there was one thing George respected, it was Hope's comfort zone. And George knew better than anyone else that Hope would be uncomfortable enough in a dress and being in full view of three schools…Hope got enough stares for her scars.

Which was why Dean had agreed to take her…and wear an impeccable suit that certain Pure-bloods would scoff at. Hope had never appreciated quite as much as the moment when she'd caught him and hurriedly asked if he'd go with her, only for him to assure her that he wouldn't mind.

Dean was good about that, even though she knew he had his eyes on Daphne Greengrass.

Hope had already had five older students ask her, which had been irksome, albeit amusing, especially when she'd been walking hand-in-hand with George who certainly hadn't been impressed. People actually _believed_ that they'd broken up for a month… _honestly._

"You should be working on the egg!" Hermione complained the first day of the holiday. "Not worrying about the ball!"

"I think a ball is more troublesome than the dragon," Hope grumbled while Fleur giggled, having taken up residence beside them again, now that the task wasn't hovering over them.

"Has George asked you yet?" Ron asked, "because he's coming this way now."

Hope gave him an unimpressed look, returning to her Ancient Runes essay on the Celts interpretation of Runes. Ron, who was still playing with his Exploding Snap cards recoiled slightly as they exploded, leaving his eyebrows singed, causing Hermione to stifle her laughter into her pudding.

"Nice look, Ron," an amused voice commented, "go well with your dress robes, that will."

Ron scowled at his brothers, feeling his eyebrows gingerly for any lasting damage. They'd been making fun of him since they found out he'd gotten new and nice dark blue robes that had been a gift from Hope, because she thought one of them should've looked comfortable. George sat down beside Hope, leaning down slightly to press a kiss to her cheek.

Hope's mouth twisted into a faint smile.

"What're doing later?" her boyfriend asked, toying with the end of her plait, eyes bright.

"Depends on what you've got planned," Hope replied and George winked, his fingers cupping her cheek before trailing down her neck and over the scar across her neck. Hope's skin tingled.

"I'll be by the room at eight," he promised before turning away to ask Ron, "Hey, Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?"

"No, he's off delivering a letter," Ron said, eyeing his brother curiously. "Why?"

"Because George wants to invite him to the ball," Fred said sardonically, rolling his eyes for good measure. "Which is a comfort for Hope, I'm sure."

"George is going with Katie," Hope said dryly, returning her attention to her essay and making them all -excepting George, of course- stare at her, "he asked her this morning."

"What?" Hermione balked. "Why aren't you going together?"

"Because Katie's boyfriend doesn't go here anymore," Hope rolled her eyes. "It only took them a month before he graduated to figure their shit out." Which had been the funniest thing; the entire quidditch team had howled with laughter when she'd snogged Oliver in the middle of the common room.

"Who're you going with?" Ron balked.

"My brother," Hope retorted and Fleur glanced down the table with the rest of them to where Dean was sitting with Seamus who looked like he was in the middle of panicking. Because Hope had given Ginny the green dress Mrs. Weasley had gotten her and he'd walked into the common room to see Hope standing with Lavender and Parvati, with Ginny on a table, wearing the dress and stealing one of Hope's knives because the thing was too long and heavy…Parvati had kindly taken the knife and told her to leave it to the professionals, and none of them had noticed Seamus gaping and then leaving to panic about finding Ginny Weasley in a nice dress, brandishing a weapon as _unbelievably cute and absolutely terrifying_ ; he ought to take notes from George.

Ron shook his head slightly before looking to George. "Why do you need him?" he asked again, making a face at how George had pulled Hope closer to him, sinking into his side as she wrote another sentence. George was good for her, but that didn't change the fact that he was his brother and she was his best mate.

George smirked at his discomfort -the _ass_. "Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat."

Ron ignored that, too curious. "Who d'you two keep writing to, eh?"

"Nose out, Ron," Fred advised, twisting his wand slightly, "or I'll burn that for you, too."

"So..." George said slowly, "the rest of you lot got dates for the ball yet?"

Hermione busied herself with her homework, swallowing pumpkin juice quickly to keep from answering.

"Nope," Ron said.

"Well, you'd better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone," Fred said with a manner of warning.

"Don't tell me you've already asked Angelina?" Ron asked with a derisive snort.

"Good point," Fred conceded, glancing down the table for his girlfriend. She'd exchanged her dreadlocks for a multitude of thick braids that looked great and everyone snorted when Fred was briefly distracted by how good she looked. "Oi! Angelina!"

Angelina looked up from the Charms demonstration that Alicia was doing. "What?"

Fred pointed to her, mimed dancing, and then pointed to himself. A bright smile spread across her face. "Of course, _you git."_

Fred winked. "And that, dear little brother, is how you do it."

"I'm glad Angie's into arrogance," Hope sniggered.

"Oh, like George isn't arrogant," he retorted, unafraid to throw shade at his twin, who was hiding his smirk in his hand, "have you ever tried to tell him his potion ingredients _weren't_ the right measurements? It's an honest to Merlin nightmare!"

"Were the measurements off?" Hope countered easily.

"Well _-no—"_ Fred became a bit flustered.

"Then it's not arrogance, it's knowing you're right," Hope said, kissing George's cheek soundly. George smirked easily.

"Favoritism, that's what this is," Fred said decisively, reaching across the table to take Hope's hand. "Hope, _my love,_ I thought we had something special."

"Oh, Fred," Hope batted her eyes, " _you know_ I've only got eyes for you, but I've got to throw your twin off the scent somehow."

George rolled his eyes while Hope's friends laughed.

"I forgive you," Fred promised with a wink, "come on, Georgie."

George tipped an imaginary hat and Hope laughed, waving him goodbye. "See you later, baby."

"Most definitely," he agreed. "And I plan on winning you back from Fred."

Hope sniggered as he left. "Easy job, to be honest."

"I'll never understand you two," Ron mimed vomiting.

"I zink eet eez sweet," Fleur said with a small smile, having been silent throughout the exchange.

"So," Hope coughed a little to get the attention off her, "who's going to be your date, Fleur?"

"I don't know," the French champion said in a bit of misery, "Zere eez no one I want to ask zhat won't be affected by my Allure…"

"Maybe you should ask someone who has similar interests to you?" Hermione offered. "That way at least it won't be boring."

"Maybe…" Fleur still appeared downtrodden. "Do you know anyone who 'as an interest in Curse-breaking?"

The grin that bloomed on Hope's face was nearly feral. "Actually, I do."

"That's a bad idea!" Ron said catching on quickly, shaking his head. "He'll probably be too busy!"

"Oh, you don't know that," Hermione admonished, knowing where Hope was going with her thoughts.

"Fleur how do you feel about a man with a ponytail and a fang earring?"

"Nozzing, really—" Fleur blinked a few times, because Hope had left the table to beseech her Head of House at the staff table.

"Professor, could I borrow your fireplace later?"

Professor McGonagall eyed her student suspiciously, making Hope grin. That's what happened when you had the last name Potter and were dating one of the Weasley twins. "Why?"

"I just need to take Fleur to Gringotts for something important," Hope said with a congenial smile that would never fool someone who'd seen it once on James Potter's face. "May we?"

Professor McGonagall's eyes were filled with suspicion, but finally she said, "I will allow you in fifteen minutes."

" _Yes!"_ Hope pumped her fist. "Thanks so much, Professor!"

She returned to the table with a grin, gathering up her things. "All right, we've got fifteen minutes until she says we can use her fireplace, so I'm going to get rid of some of these books, coming Hermione?"

"I don't understand," Fleur said in complete confusion.

"Just go with it," Ron and Hermione advised as the two girls gathered up their things and left in search of the library.

"Trying to set Bill up with Fleur?" she asked with an arched eyebrow. "Really?"

Hope shrugged with a grin. "Why not?"

"Oh, I do—"

"Excuse me."

Both girls looked up in surprise to see Viktor Krum standing before them looking slightly uncomfortable. His eyes were on Hermione for a change. "May I haff a vord?" he asked her thickly.

"Oh, you most certainly _can,"_ Hope said with a bright grin, elbowing Hermione slightly. "She is all yours!"

"Hope!" Hermione hissed as her friend left her behind before blushing slightly as her eyes met Viktor's. She did her best to ignore Hope's cackles in the distance as she made off towards the library, now alone.

And then, fifteen minutes later, Hope and Fleur were spat out of the emerald fire, stumbling into Gringotts.

"Miss Potter, what a surprise."

Hope was used to the cold and craggy drawls of the goblins and she smiled politely down at the one who had spoken. "Hello, Griphook. How are you today?"

It was rare for wand-carriers to greet the goblins, but Griphook had grown used to the way that Hope was. "I am well," he said, "Is there something I may assist you in?"

"I'm looking for William Weasley," Hope said, scanning the lobby for a familiar head of red hair. "Is he here?"

"He is. Shall I tell him he has a visitor?"

"That would be most kind," Hope said with another blinding smile as the goblin walked away, muttering unintelligible words in Gobbledegook under his breath.

Fleur arched a pale eyebrow.

"He's the one who usually takes me down to my vault," Hope admitted, "I talk more with Gornuk, though, he's nicer." From a certain point of view. "Ah, there he is!"

Fleur had to admit, her breath left her slightly at the sight of the person Hope wanted her to meet. He was red-haired with a ponytail and a fang earring dangling from his lobe just as Hope had described, but she had forgotten to mention how ruggedly handsome he was.

Or perhaps she hadn't noticed.

"Give me a second, would you?" But Fleur hardly heard her as she stepped forward to greet him, bestowing a kindly hug.

"Heard you did quite well against the dragon from Charlie," Bill told her after they parted.

Hope blushed, "Oh, it wasn't very impressive." Hardly any of it had actually been seen, Moody's magical eye notwithstanding.

"Of course not," Bill's mouth twitched. "You're not here about George, are you?"

"No," Hope said perplexed. "Why?"

"Well, you are dating…or not dating, according to some people…" He appraised her and she groaned.

"George and I are perfectly fine," she informed him flatly. "But I'm not here about him, I'm here about –you see that blonde back there?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and Bill followed it to a young woman pretending to be interested in the ceiling.

"That's Fleur Delacour, the champion of Beauxbatons," Hope explained, "and she needs a date for the Yule Ball, but she doesn't know who to ask because she's got Veela blood."

"Ah…" Bill nodded in understanding. "But why'd you ask me?"

"It wouldn't be your devilishly good looks," Hope said sarcastically, "she actually has an interest in Curse-breaking, so I figured if you guys went together, you would at least be able to talk about something you're both passionate about."

"Possibly," Bill said, eyeing her over Hope's head. She was very lovely, but that was to be expected with having Veela blood, but she also looked incredibly nervous. "I'll talk with her," he said, "but no promises."

But Hope couldn't help but think he walked surprisingly fast towards the seventeen-year-old French witch.

"I'm Bill Weasley," he introduced himself smoothly, "Hope tells me you're having a bit of a crisis?"

Fleur blushed again, forcing her hands to remain at her sides, not twisting them together nervously. "Yes," she said in her throaty voice, "Ze Yule Ball eez days away, and…" She bit her lip, conveying her nervousness.

Bill smiled and he couldn't help but think she was very different from the Veela at the Cup. "Do you want to get a Butterbeer?" he asked her.

She was surprised, but pleased all the same.

"I can wait," Hope offered to the pair who had apparently forgotten of her presence, "or you can just take the Floo back to Professor McGonagall's Office."

"Oh!" Fleur gave her an embarrassed smile. "You don't 'ave to wait for me, 'Ope."

"Don't worry," I'll get her back to school, no problem," Bill added with a wink, to which Hope rolled her eyes.

"Now you two, behave yourselves!" Hope called after them. "We don't want an international incident on our hands!"

Obviously, they ignored her, making Hope feel as though she'd picked a good choice. Who knew what kind of person Fleur would have gone with if she hadn't suggested the apparently Allure-resistant Bill? Probably someone who hung onto her, being far more interested in how she looked than what she said, something she doubted Bill would do.

* * *

Hope was quite effectively distracted. George's fingers were in her hair and his mouth was on hers and she had a leg hooked over his hip, the food on the small table before the fire had been forgotten and Hope couldn't bring herself to pry herself from George's grip.

"Mm," she hummed as he parted from her briefly before returning, making it difficult to think, but Hope persevered, "You were-mm-touchy-this morn-ing—" Hope's mouth opened under his and he did something clever with his tongue that had her clutching his shoulders and stifling a moan.

George parted from her lips to trail to her ear and Hope swallowed her breaths raggedly. "Placeholder."

"What?" she asked, dazedly, trying to focus and George grinned, leaning back to get a look at her, with her flushed cheeks and glazed eyes and swollen mouth, her hair pulled haphazardly by his fingers.

Merlin, she was breathtaking.

"Placeholder," George was enjoying the upper hand far too much right now, "places I want to kiss you when we're not in polite company."

Hope went past flustered to full-on red-faced and light headed and she had to clutch George to stay upright. "You," she paused, "you want to kiss my scars?"

He'd only kissed the edge of it before and Hope had never been sure if it had been because he didn't like them.

"I thought you didn't like them," Hope said finally. Hope didn't mind her scars, but she didn't really like them either.

"Do you like them?" George asked her suddenly.

"No-t _really,"_ Hope had to quickly amend before sighing tiredly. "I'm used to scars, though, scars are proof that…" Nath's words came back to her. "Proof that no matter what life has thrown at me…I'm tougher."

"Nath?" George guessed.

"Nath," Hope agreed, laughing, which tapered off as he brought him mouth to her throat, kissing lightly over where Hope had stitched herself back together after Rookwood's spell. Her skin tingled and she sighed before dragging him up to kiss him again, laughing at the surprised look on his face.

(And the tiny beetle that had been seeking more content couldn't help but be annoyed that it couldn't find Hope, who rarely drew back the curtains in Morea's chamber)

* * *

Daphne had been carrying too many books, and she'd definitely hit the edge of the staircase wrong. She let out a little yelp, her books tumbling out of her arms and down the stairs, tripping as she followed after.

Or, would've, if someone hadn't grabbed her at the last moment with a "Hey! _Careful!"_ and arms around her that jerked her back to safety.

"Careful," was repeated and Daphne looked up into the dark eyes of Dean Thomas. She swallowed thickly and tried not to get distracted, but his jawline and cheekbones had really come in and were very distracting.

"Thomas," she forced out, trying not to think about how uncomfortably close they were.

"Daphne," he replied easily and she really liked how her name flowed off his tongue.

(That tongue was probably the difference between a good kiss and a great one – _no, stop right there!)_

"Dean," she amended and he smiled broadly. "Um. Thank you. For catching me." Her brain was having trouble remaining focused.

"No problem," he said, releasing her to grab her books where she'd dropped them and Daphne looked down. Dean had dropped his bag in his haste to catch her and his sketchbook had slid out. Daphne reached out to flip it open, unable to stop herself.

At first, she thought it was Hope Potter, but it wasn't. The woman in the sketch bore an uncanny likeness to her, but she lacked her scars and her mouth was stretched wide in a scream, palms against a tree.

She flipped past a few sketches of Hope -all very good- before seeing one of herself, across from Great Hall, engrossed in a book…and somehow, he'd made her seem utterly beautiful. Well, Daphne knew she was pretty, but…not like that.

She snapped it shut, handing it back as he traded her for her books. "You draw Hope Potter a lot," she mentioned.

"Yeah, she's a good subject," Dean shrugged, "if you can't draw your sister than who can you?"

Daphne hummed faintly before appraising him. "Are you going to the Ball with anyone?"

Dean grinned, taking a step forward and leaning on the railing. The light shining through the windows was making him seem golden and absolutely sun-touched and she just knew he was even more attractive in darkness and moonlight. There was something utterly…otherworldly about him. "Are you asking?"

They were close, very close and Daphne could see his eyes dart from her lips back up to her eyes and she could feel the heat pooling in her cheeks as she swallowed thickly. "Yes," she said finally, "I'm asking."

Dean's eyes glowed with delight and then his smile faltered. "Oh, sorry, I would love that, you don't know _how much_ I would love that, but I promised I'd take Hope."

"Doesn't she have a boyfriend?" Daphne arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but she hates being the center of attention for something like this and hates wearing dresses even more, so I promised I'd do it," Dean waved a hand and Daphne couldn't help but feel utter fondness towards him. "So…save me a dance, would you?"

Daphne smiled. "I'll be looking forward to it." And when he walked off there was a definite skip in his step. Besides, taking your proclaimed sister to a ball knowing she'd be unbelievably uncomfortable as it was to go with her boyfriend? He got a _lot_ of points for that.

And it really didn't help that he was _that hot._

* * *

Hope gazed at herself in the mirror, willing the bile down and wishing not for the hundredth time that she was in a suit. But it was still better than the one Mrs. Weasley had given her; Quinn, at least, knew what Hope liked.

The dress was blood red and made of a loose and flowing material that fluttered when she moved. It wasn't made to fit her body, like many of the form-fitting dresses that Hope had seen through open doors as she'd traipsed back to the fourth-year girls' dormitory. She would've been getting ready in Morea's chamber -she had decided to stay there even after the school got back on her side- but Dean would be getting ready in Gryffindor Tower, so it seemed like a better idea to get ready there.

"Wow, I like the dress," Parvati said behind her and Hope turned and had to blink a few times.

Parvati was radiant in a similar Greek-inspired dress, only hers was more flattering and golden.

"Look who's talking," Hope snorted. "Taking a cue from Apollo?" There was a sun medallion glittering at her throat that Hope thought Parvati never took off.

Parvati positively beamed and Hope surmised that was her intention. "If you see Padma, will you do me a favor and tell her she looks stunning?"

"Is she also taking a cue from Apollo?" Hope asked bemused.

"No," Parvati said with a mysterious smile. "Feel naked without any knives?"

Hermione snorted where she was pinning her hair. "Maybe she's hiding one in that braid."

Hope rolled her eyes, fixing one last pin in place, still looking in the mirror, frowning deeply and rubbing at her arms like she'd been hit with a sudden chill. The grounding sigil tattooed on her arm was as clear as day, like the blue iris on her shoulder.

She twisted her fingers together. "Let's get this over with before I vomit." And she strode out of the room, barely hearing Lavender asking why she wasn't looking forward to the dance.

Dean was waiting for her at the bottom step and he smiled. "I've got a red tie so we match."

Hope laughed before taking him in with his suit, black jacket and trousers and vest, the tie being the only contrast. "You look good…gonna snag a dance with Daphne later?"

"Shut up and _yes,"_ he rolled his eyes, "I missed out on actually taking her, though."

Hope faltered. " _Oh,"_ she said uncomfortably, "sorry."

"Oh, shut up, it's not your fault," he waved her off, "besides, you're not sticking around very long anyways."

George was absolutely the most perfect person she had ever met and as soon as Hope could feasibly leave, they were both skipping and Hope was making a mirror bridge to Thalatta to dance (and probably push George into the shallows of the sea before he got to her first).

She smirked, pressing a finger to her lips. She caught George's eyes across the common room, where he was admiring her in her dress, unable to help himself and Hope winked.

He looked away, flushed.

Dean snorted, watching the pair. "You're incorrigible…ready to go?"

And Hope looked at the portrait hole like she was preparing for a battle, raising herself and putting steel in her spine and her eyes. "Yes, dear brother," she said with so much resignation, "let's go."

She took his arm and they descended.

* * *

Hope had faked a smile almost the entire evening; George could tell. And it was only when they'd gotten through about five songs that she grabbed him and dragged him back up to Morea's room, changing into a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt that made her look grossly underdressed, but George hadn't minded.

She looked better in pants any day.

And it was nice, _really nice._ Not the kind of nice Fred would like, but Hope and George were always more of a go with the flow kind of couple, less in your face and more…holding hands under the table and sharing secretive glances.

But George didn't think she'd laughed as much as she had when she'd pushed him off the dock, only for him to reach out and pull her down with him. George had forgotten for exactly two seconds that Hope couldn't actually swim and was quick to hold her up in his arms, which Hope had appreciated.

They'd fallen asleep with damp hair and damp clothes on the couch in Morea's chamber, long after midnight, and with Hope's cheek pressed to his chest, breathing in and out easily, and it was a way that George always wanted to go to sleep.

* * *

Hope blinked a few times, coming around slowly.

"You know," a familiar voice said, "I rather like this place…clearly made with your… _Tinkerer_ in mind."

Hope looked around for a brief moment before taking in the sight of the potion room in Thalatta, the bottles lined in the shelves, herbs hanging from the ceiling, a cauldron bubbling before a woman cloaked in raven feathers.

Mirror Lady never really let Hope see her face, though sometimes she could get a hint of her sly smile in a mirror, or even her dark eyes…but Hope had never looked her full in the face.

"You know, you're the second person to call him that," Hope said dryly, running a hand through her hair.

"Does he not tinker?" Mirror Lady mused. "With magic, with potions, with anything that suits his fancy?"

Hope gave a conceding grunt, appraising Mirror Lady. Selenar had said she worked for a god named Morrigan and she couldn't deny that she hadn't looked her up in her off hours.

She was a goddess associated with crows or ravens -which one was actually right was a bit spotty-, one of the Celtic gods who had a lot of aspects of control, but Hope had seen there was a lot of emphasis on war and fate and death, particularly with foretelling doom, death or victory in battle.

"Selenar works for you," Hope said suddenly and the raven cloak stiffened, hiding her shoulders underneath. "You're the one that sent her."

Mirror Lady reached up to grab one of the bottles, peppering in its contents, making a cloud of crimson erupt briefly. "I did. I'm concerned."

" _Everyone's_ concerned," Hope sighed, partially exasperated, partially really fucking _tired._ "But making deals with gods, historically in my family, doesn't really end well."

"If you're talking about your mother, she was the one that broke her oath—"

"I'm talking about _Diane,"_ Hope said shortly and the goddess paused.

 _"Ah_ ," she said intelligently before sitting down on a stool that Hope was certain wasn't actually in the real room. "There's a lot you have to understand about that situation."

"Like?" Hope demanded stubbornly, fiercely.

"That it wasn't planned, that I respected her immensely, that I still do," Morrigan said seriously.

Hope narrowed her eyes. "Didn't you proposition her last year when she was trying get the records of my abuse?"

Mirror Lady coughed uncomfortably. "I am a simple god," she acquiesced, "and Diane is a beautiful woman."

Well, Hope wasn't blind, _she could tell that easily._

"I respected her decision to leave me behind," Mirror Lady said simply, "Diane had control of so little things in life, the one thing she could have, I gave her; the right to raise our son in peace and quiet, without interference."

Hope looked at her. "But he hates you."

Mirror Lady grimaced. "He does, for plausible reasons—"

"And you just _accept_ that?" Hope tried to imagine if her own parents were alive, if they'd split up, if she'd hated one of them. "Part of the reason he hates you is because you haven't tried to get to know him…you're a stranger and parents don't _get_ to choose when kids matter to them."

Mirror Lady actually drew back slightly in surprise and it was hard to think of her as an all-powerful god and not Dean's other mother.

Mirror Lady was silent for the longest time and then she gave a regal nod.

"Do or do not," Hope advised, "there is no try."

That actually caused laughter to bloom out of Mirror Lady and she leaned against the arm of the chair to tuck a loose lock of dark hair behind Hope's ear. "You're a marvel, you know that?" she mused and Hope flushed. "And still the value you place on your own life is minimal at best."

"Yeah, well, we've all got our problems," Hope grumbled. "I'm just the scapegoat." The first one to be blamed, the first one to be thrown to the wolves. "And I'm…I'm _really_ tired."

"I know," Mirror Lady said gently. "It's hard to be the one who knows when everything will end and realizing you can't change or fix anything."

"I've never been very good at fixing things," Hope admitted, leaning back in the chair, "I'm broken enough as is."

Mirror Lady shut her eyes, heaving a heavy sigh, reining herself in briefly. "You're not some flower or a delicate piece of glass. You're a person. And people _heal_ …it could take months, it could take years, and maybe you will never feel like you're as centered or as complete as others, but time _will_ heal scars…the thing about healing is that it's always different for everyone, so you have to find what works for you."

Hope needed therapy, that's what she needed. _A lot of therapy._

But who really had the time for that? Not Hope, that was for sure.

Hope rubbed the back of her head, wincing where the familiar throbbing cropped up. It was an old pain, one that Hope had always thought was from one too many bad hits to her head, but she remembered what Diane had said.

"Do memory patches hurt?" she asked and Mirror Lady paused.

"Not unless inexpertly done," Mirror Lady admitted, turning towards her so Hope could see the dark eyes the exact same shape as Dean's, which wasn't very helpful. "Which yours was…it's quite crude and it's the reason we can never speak outside of mirrors or dreams."

"I thought it was covering a memory," Hope said, frowning deeply.

"Oh, it is, but the woman who placed it on you was… _gifted."_ She said the word with so much disdain. "Your patch is more like the kind that's placed on telepaths who don't want to hear other voices in their heads; a temporary fix that wears down the mind's ability to defend itself."

"Lovely," Hope sighed. "Was she the one who put the magical core that's slowly killing me inside me, too?"

"Probably," Mirror Lady conceded.

"Was it my mother?"

That startled her and Mirror Lady recoiled sharply. " _No,"_ her tone soothed like ice on a burn, "dear heart, _no._ Your mother loved you, too much, perhaps, but she loved you enough to break her oath to me, enough to want to hide you from me."

"What deal did she make with you?" Hope watched the potion on the table bubbling and steaming silver.

"Magic in exchange for her firstborn."

Hope arched an eyebrow. "That's very…Rumplestiltskin of you."

Morrigan actually laughed. "I suppose it was…but she agreed to the deal. I think she never intended to have a child, that's the best way to trick me into giving her power and her not losing a child."

"But she fell in love," Hope blinked thickly, "she _wanted_ me."

"She did…and she did all sort of things to keep you safe, from me, from others. I came to you when you were a newborn, so she had that memory tucked away. If nothing else, I know that your parents loved you completely."

Hope couldn't stop them this time and she had to mop at the tears that spilled over. The last thing she felt was a press of lips to her brow and then Hope opened her eyes and breathed.

* * *

"Can I ask you something personal, _really_ personal?"

Hope was _supposed_ to be at school. It was into January now and the next task was going to be on her soon. She'd asked that Quinn and Diane not come to this one, which Diane thought translated to she didn't want them to see her as terrified as she had been during the last one.

Diane hadn't seen her since Christmas -Hope and Dean had stayed at Hogwarts for the Ball, one albeit reluctantly- when Quinn had traveled both the kids home for gifts and Hope had enjoyed the 'proper suits for the maladjusted asexual' while Dean was up to his eyeballs in watercolors.

"That seems like an open question." Diane arched an eyebrow.

"It's about Morrigan," Hope said bluntly, toying with her new flask specifically for blood replenishers, taking a few swigs before sipping some pomegranate tea that she loved so much.

Diane froze, setting her mug down much too loudly and Hope winced. " _Oh."_

"I just…I want to know if she's good, if she's trustworthy," Hope said hollowly. It had been bothering her for a while, since her last dream with Mirror Lady, and no amount of meditation could soothe her unease. "I've had her in my dreams for years, but…you loved her once."

"I did," Diane sighed heavily. "Sweetheart…gods aren't good and they aren't evil, even ones with power over death or chaos, they act their will upon their world without regard to consequence and without thought of petty human disagreements…making things personal with a god takes effort."

"You mean romantically or like determined-to-piss-them-off?" Hope asked, frowning in confusion.

"Hm, I suppose it's a bit of both," Diane conceded, "but in my case…Morrigan was not a good person, but she didn't have to be. Our attraction was mutual, I was not forced into…sleeping with her and I was not forced to have her son. Did I realize it was probably a bad idea to fuck my patron? _Oh, yeah._ Did I think it would bite me in the ass _? For sure._ So, I did the full muggle, ran away, had my kid, lived my life…which Morrigan is still a big part of, one that Dean isn't ready to accept…but maybe someday he will, because he deserves her love more than I ever did."

Hope nodded in understanding.

"I hope that helps," Diane smiled. "How's the second task going?"

"It's going," Hope said evasively in a way that said it wasn't going. "I'm working on it."

Diane arched an eyebrow.

"I will work on it as soon as I leave here," Hope promised immediately.

"Atta girl," Diane hummed into her mug as Hope scrambled. "Love ya, sweetheart!"

"Love you, too!" Hope shouted over her shoulder before she vanished out the door. Diane shook her head fondly and laughed.

* * *

Hope smoothed her fingers continuously over the surface of the golden egg, her eyes staring into the fire, her lips moving wordlessly as she frowned, trying to puzzle it out.

"Hope, thinking so intensely about it isn't going to change anything," Hermione said with a wide yawn as she finally slid her Arithmancy book shut. Ron had given up several hours ago and had headed back to the dormitory to get some decent sleep, because one of them had to. "It's eleven o'clock, Hope, you should go to bed."

"When I'm in bed I think more," Hope muttered, her eyes still on the fire, "take it with me to the bath…"

"What're you going on about?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Cedric, he gave me a hint for the Second Task after Yule," Hope said, rubbing her eyes, "I completely forgot about it after all that happened with Hagrid…" Rita Skeeter, in her usual flair for drama, had found out that Hagrid was half-giant and decided that everyone else should know too. "Maybe the egg doesn't scream in water like it does in air," she reasoned as she stood.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked in resignation. "Are you going to lose something else?"

Hope's expression soured. How she'd managed to misplace the Marauder's Map for the second time in two years was as aggravating as it was exasperating. Knowing her, the next generation was going to wind up stealing it from the Caretaker's office long after they'd all graduated. _If Hope lived that long._

"No," Hope said bitterly, "I'm gonna take a bath with the egg…I'll let you guys know how it goes. Go to bed, get some sleep."

"I'll try," Hermione promised, "if you do."

Hope pouted and it made her laugh. "Let me know if it works, all right?" And Hope waved her goodbye, waiting until she left before racing up to the stairs to start the bath.

It took longer to fill up because Hope wanted it to go faster, which didn't really help. Once it was full enough, she pulled herself in, egg in hand, not really caring if she was splashing water onto the tile.

Hope took in a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and dropped herself beneath the surface, her fingers twisting the latch to snap it open, but instead of the shrieking sound that she had heard the first time she opened it, she heard _singing:_

_"Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you're searching, ponder this:_

_We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour- the prospect's black,_

_Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."_

Hope's head burst through the surface and she inhaled the air greedily for a few moments before sinking down again to hear it a second time, and then a third before she shut the egg and pulled herself out. She murmured the words to herself before she managed to write them out.

And when Ron and Hermione stopped by in the morning to remind her there was class in about an hour, Hope, please for the love of all that's holy, get dressed, they found her slumped over the table with the song scrawled out with notes attached like _'lose something of value?'_ and _'time limit?'_ and _'breathe underwater?'_

But those questions were best served for after class, after they'd shaken her awake and pushed her to get dressed, which she did so, grumbling bitterly.

* * *

Ron and Hermione had yet to see Hope actually have a freak out. She'd had panic attacks before, but that wasn't the same thing, and they were honestly waiting for something to snap.

The second task was tomorrow and Hope didn't have anything to allow herself to breathe underwater, and to make matters worse, Hope couldn't swim.

"George says there isn't a potion," she said tiredly, "he offered to whip something up, but there's no way of knowing that would work by tomorrow…hang on, hey, Neville!"

She bounded over to the boy, who was vaguely surprised at being spoken to so suddenly.

"What, does she think he knows a plant that'll work?" Ron arched an eyebrow and Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"I guess if anyone would know that, it would be Neville." There wasn't anyone who knew magical plants more.

They watched the interest gleam across his eyes as he pulled a book from his bag, speaking to Hope excitedly and showing her a picture in a book and nodding his head to whatever question Hope had. Then she moved on to where Fred and George were, making some gestures with her hands and the twins had identical smirks on their faces.

Hope kissed Fred's cheek soundly before kissing George full on the mouth, something he clearly wasn't expecting, because there were still a few people in the common room and Hope and George rarely did more than kiss cheeks in public. He was still gaping after her when she returned to the couch.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Ron asked dubiously.

"I'm allowed to kiss my boyfriend," Hope smirked. "He's _hot."_

Ron mimed gagging and Hermione gave Hope a very direct look. "They've seen Gillyweed in Snape's private stores and are going to steal me some later."

"Gillyweed?" Ron asked.

"How do they know what's in Snape's private stores?" Hermione queried.

Hope sniggered. "Have you met my boyfriend, potioneer extraordinaire? I ran into him once stealing some stuff, and lemme say… _nothing's hotter than committing crimes."_

Hermione burst into giggles, unable to contain herself and Ron rolled his eyes as far back as they could go.

"I think you're the one that turned George onto criminal activities, to be perfectly honest," Ron snorted and Hope gave an exaggerated gasp.

"I'm _innocent!_ George was corrupted long before I came along, just look at Fred!"

Ron snorted again, but a few hours later -after Dean and Hermione had to go see Professor McGonagall- George returned to drop a jar containing what looked like a ball of slimy grey-green rat tails.

"Bon appétit," he told her, his grin a little too sharp, like Fred's, like Hope's, but all Hope did was consider it.

"Can't be worse than half of what Snape threatens to poison me with," she reasoned. "See you tomorrow, boys."

And Ron definitely looked away, gagging when she jerked George towards her with a sharp tug at his waist, kissing him soundly. "Baby, I figured out what to do for your birthday."

"Yeah?" George sounded appropriately winded and Ron makes a hasty escape before he can hear the idea, but apparently it was good, because when he chanced a look back, he was kissing her with reckless abandon.

Ron wondered what he'd done to earn this suffering, he really did.

* * *

"Where's Dean and Hermione?" was the first thing Hope asked, not looking ready for the task at all, pale and shaky. Ron wasn't sure how she did that, going from complete focus to quietly anxious in a matter of hours. She didn't bother to force a smile as people passed her by, offering her the best of luck.

"Haven't seen them," Ron admitted, "maybe they headed down early?"

"Maybe," Hope muttered, fiddling with the arm holster that held her wand and her abalone knife.

George had given her a kiss on the cheek before heading into the stands and even Fred had told her that he thought she'd do great.

But Hope was starting to think that the mermaid's song about 'something you'll sorely miss' was about a person, not an item…did that mean that Dean was at the bottom of the Black Lake? A ghostly fear overwhelmed her quite unlike that that she had experienced in the face of the dragon; this was different, this was personal. Whose idea was it to put her _brother_ at the bottom of the _lake?_

Hope was instantly _furious._ Too furious to be scared, which was good, because otherwise she would've been _terrified._ She was just glad that the gillyweed would help her to swim on top of breathing underwater.

"Hope, we're here."

Hope jerked out of her intense thoughts and blinked owlishly before she realized that they'd made it to the Black Lake. She swallowed her fears and handed over her cloak to Ron, clutching the glass jar with Gillyweed tight in her hand as she walked out onto the dock. Ron didn't offer her a hug, just his silent support, and Hope appreciated that.

"Welcome to the Second Task!" Bagman's voice uttered over the noise of the crowd, making her wince. "Last night something was stolen from each of our champions, a treasure of sorts. These four treasures, one for each champion, now lie at the bottom of the Black Lake. In order to win, each champion need only find their treasure and return to the surface. Simply enough, except for they will have one hour to do so, and one hour only, after that, they'll be on their own." Hope shoved the Gillyweed into her mouth and chewed furiously, pressing a hand to her mouth to keep her from spitting the Gillyweed back up, because gods below was it _revolting._ "You may begin at the sound of the cannon—"

The cannon blew early and four distinct splashes of bodies hitting water could be heard.

Hope felt like she was burning, a sensation that started at her core and spread outward, enveloping her whole body and forcing her to open her mouth and gasp. But the gasp that led to her inhaling water was just like if she had been above land breathing air…it felt natural. Hope lifted a hand to her neck, awe flooding her face as she felt the protruding gills on the sides.

 _"Amazing,"_ she said, but only bubbles escaped her as she held up her hands to see the webbing between the fingers and how her feet had thinned into something akin to flippers. "Excellent."

And she beat her legs back and forth, propelling herself forward and into the deepness of the lake. The rushing of the water as she moved past it was the loudest sound in the quiet and she could hardly see more than fifteen feet in front of her.

She soon discovered that the Black Lake was aptly named; the darkness could have easily been compared to night above ground. The dark seaweed grew upwards from the bottom almost entangling her, but Hope swam above it, careful to not touch it. She almost passed over a deep ravine before changing her mind and going straight down, following the direction of the fish.

And then something had grabbed a hold of her leg and she had to reach to her opposite one, where her wand was strapped and point it at the Grindylow that had a tight grip on her.

" _Expulso!"_ Bubbles escaped her mouth a second time, but that didn't stop the spell from working. A red flash shot at the Grindylow, sending it flying off as Hope practically flew in the direction she had been aiming for. If Grindylows were attacking her, that might mean she was getting closer, right?

"How are you getting on?"

Hope let out a startled yell at the sudden voice, turning to stare wildly at the speaker.

Moaning Myrtle giggled at her, amused at how she'd startled the girl. Hope hadn't seen her since second year and the spirit hadn't changed much other than not looking quite as downtrodden as usual, but that could possibly change in an instant.

"Myrtle!" Hope complained, clutching at her heart. "Come on!"

Myrtle giggled louder at that before pointing to her left. "You want to try over there. I won't come with you…I don't like them much, they always chase me when I get too close…"

Though curious how Myrtle actually knew she was going to be here, but then, she had probably heard some professors talking and had accidentally flushed herself down here, Hope gave her a grin, heading off in the direction she had indicated.

But maybe she had been wrong to do so. Bubbles left her gills, rapid with frustration as she kicked continuously for more than twenty minutes. She was just about to contemplate circling back when she caught a whisper of a tune:

_"...An hour long you'll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took..."_

She twisted her head and caught sight of a mermaid swimming through the bunches of seaweed and Hope practically launched herself in her direction.

_"...your time's half gone, so tarry not_

_Lest what you seek stays here to rot..."_

Hope hardly had time to glance over the beauty of the clearing, stone arches and towers completely covered in algae and other strangely colored water plants that Neville would probably know better. She kicked harder as she twisted around the structures, searching until she found them.

There were four of them, all hanging immobile in the water, fastened by a rope to the ocean floor. Dean, Hermione, and Cho she could easily make out, along with a little girl who could only be Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle.

_"Dean!"_

Hope's webbed hands clutched at her brother's face. He didn't look like he was even breathing and Hope had to swallow down the bile crawling up her throat. She took in a deep breath sharply and steeled herself before pulling out the abalone knife, flicking it open and beginning to cut.

No sooner than she had freed him did Cedric swim forward with what looked like a bubble over his head. He withdrew his wand and fired a spell at the rope binding Cho before glancing to Hope. "Get lost," he said, his voice a bit distorted by the bubble. "Fleur and Krum're coming now!"

Hope nodded, watching him up and disappear towards the surface, turning back at the sound the Merpeople screeching and her eyes bugged. She had to push back suddenly as a half-shark, half-man approached, and it could only be Krum as he turned his head sideways, ripping through the binding that held Hermione and dragging her away by the arm. That only left Fleur…but where was she?

Hope pulled out her wand and recited the incantation to reveal the presence of humans. _"Homenum Revelio."_ But nothing happened. The lake was empty of human presences except for the three of them. Hope pointed the tip at Gabrielle's bindings. _"Relashio!"_ It was quicker that way.

She then seized them both by the arm and pointed her wand towards the lake floor uttering the banishing charm, giving them a boost to the surface, but Hope still had to pump her legs the rest of the way, her gills and flippers fading fast and all but gone by the time three heads broke through the water into the air.

Hope gulped the air greedily, coughing up any water she'd swallowed.

"What the fuck?" Dean demanded, coming around in total confusion. "Are we in the lake?"

Hope's voice failed her, and she flailed suddenly, her head sinking under the surface before she forced it back up, coughing and gasping. "Hey, I got you!" Dean grabbed her and she clung to him, shaking in the cold water. Hope honestly didn't know how they had gotten from the middle of the lake to shore, but the next thing she knew Fleur was sobbing over Gabrielle and Hope and Dean were bundled up in more towels than they probably needed and Hope was wishing to never do anything like that ever again.

"What'd I miss?" Dean asked in an effort to distract her, and Hope opened her mouth to explain before deciding a hug would cover her all their bases. "Was I the damsel? I hope Mum didn't come to see that. That'd be really boring to watch."

Hope's shoulders shook and he couldn't for the life of him tell if it was from laughter or restrained sobs. 

* * *

George's arms were wrapped around her and she was trying not to sink into his warmth. "Look, Sirius isn't the best judge of character, and he's a _hypocrite_ , which is why he doesn't like you."

George's expression was a bit sour. He'd been dealing with a lot of misery that Rita Skeeter was at the center of. Really, him and Dean, which was hilarious to anyone that knew either of them, because Rita was making it out like Hope was two-timing George with Dean, since he was the one she'd 'most sorely miss' which, yeah, Dean was her brother, _obviously_ …but people believed gossip as truth as if it was the air they needed to breathe.

Hope had already gotten a few burns and cursed letters -so had George and Dean, but evidently Hope wasn't being a very good role model to young girls and honestly, I'm debating pulling my daughter out of Hogwarts! _Good for you, lady, that's not my problem_. Hope had handed them off to Kingsley because she was pretty sure sending curses to an underage kid counted as some kind of assault.

Though knowing the ministry, it'd probably just be a fine and a slap on the wrist.

"Hey." Hope cupped his chin, making him meet her eyes. "Forget about him. Nath _adores_ you and he's looking forward to meeting you…and he's more than happy about you to make up for Sirius, I promise, okay?"

She kissed him once, twice, three times, muffling her surprise when he reeled her back in after the third. _"Mm,"_ she hummed once they parted, "you and Fred have fun, yeah?"

"I'll give it a go," George mused in a thoughtful manner, stooping suddenly to brush a kiss to the edge of the scar on her throat and Hope squeaked, looking around quickly to see if anyone had seen them, but it was only Ron and Hermione acting like they were interested in the ceiling.

"George, you _asshole!"_ She growled, red in the face with a hand over her neck where the skin still tingled. "We're in _public!"_

George grinned impishly.

"Oh, you utter… _cock,"_ Hope didn't know what she was feeling, but it was somewhere between completely attracted and viscerally… _attracted._ She had a problem and she had a type, _unfortunately._

"Later," he said, still grinning before whispering in her ear, " _baby."_

"Oh, my gods." Hope's face was beet red and she separated herself from him. "I'm, uh, just going to, um, I'll—" and then she grabbing Ron and Hermione and pulling them out into the crisp February air.

"You've got problems," Ron told her seriously. "Do I want to know what he said to you?"

"No," Hermione decided emphatically, "I think we're both better off not knowing."

Hope gave them both a fierce scowl. "And you're not to mention my love life to my godfather."

"He probably already knows," Ron conceded, shouldering his bag of food higher on his shoulder, " _Witch Weekly's_ pretty popular."

 _"Great,"_ Hope grumbled, the scowl still present.

"So…think Padfoot's going to be able to eat all this food?" Ron queried as they strolled off towards and through Hogsmeade. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend since Christmas holidays, so of course it was packed, but thankfully hardly anyone spared the three a glance as they moved towards the outskirts.

"This is _Padfoot_ we're talking about," Hope said regaining a bit of her usual flair, "he's probably _dying_ for this food."

An eager, muffled bark agreed with her words, and Hope looked down to grin at the shaggy, black-furred dog who in turn was grinning at her around the newspaper secured in his mouth.

"Aw!" Hope cooed. "Aren't you such a clever boy?" She petted his head affectionately, enjoying the affronted expression immensely before shaking her hand off his head and racing off, turning back in a way of beckoning them forward.

"Ah, my godfather," Hope mused to her friends, "a man of few words."

Ron couldn't resist snorting at that comment as they hiked up and into the mountains, moving higher and higher, until long last when they finally reached a narrow cave. Getting inside was an easy trial and waiting for them was Buckbeak the Hippogriff, looking antsy, and Sirius himself, transformed back into a man.

Hope gave him a very direct look, giving him a small hug that he returned. "I had it sorted, you know," she told him. "You didn't need to risk your neck just to keep an eye on me."

"Four eyes are better than two, aren't they?" Sirius grinned and Hope didn't agree, scowling fiercely.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly. "How about we give them some food, yeah, Hope?"

Hope huffed, but she couldn't deny that Sirius looked like he was in need of a good meal. He was still thin and nowhere near looking healthy, but, at the very least, he no longer looked as wasted. She sighed, acquiescing, waiting until Sirius and Buckbeak had swallowed down several chicken legs before she got fired up again.

"You're going to get yourself thrown back in Azkaban if you keep this up!" Hope hissed furiously.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" Sirius grumbled mutinously.

" _Hello!_ You are about a _mile_ away from Hogwarts, Sirius! Remember the last time you were so close? _You broke in!"_

"That wasn't my fault! I was trying to find Peter!"

"And gave me a concussion along the way!"

"Well, how was _I_ supposed to know that you were going to chase me?"

"That's not the point!"

 _"Uh_ , guys!" Ron was watching the quarrel with interest but Hermione was rubbing her temple with annoyance. "Seriously? You're going to do this now?"

Sirius took the opportunity to swallow down some pumpkin juice while Hope gave another huff, crossing her arms in irritation and looking away from him.

"Where's Lover Boy?" was the first question out of his mouth once he'd swallowed.

"I can still leave," Hope promised furiously.

 _"Okay_ , okay, I'll play nice…"

Hermione honestly wondered which was the adult between the two.

"I want to be on the spot," he told them all in a strangely serious voice. "Your last letter...well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."

"Sirius…"

"Hope…"

Hope sighed heavily, giving Ron an opportunity to change the subject.

" _Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch…Ministry Witch Still Missing- Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved_ ," he read aloud, "shouldn't they have been doing this weeks or months ago?"

"Maybe Mr. Crouch's illness wasn't as serious then," Hermione mused before her eyes darkened, "getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he? I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him."

Interest colored Sirius' face. "Wait…Crouch sacked his house-elf?"

"At the Cup," Hope explained, "she was found with a wand that was used to make the Dark Mark appear; he sacked her on the spot."

"Whose wand?" Sirius asked, leaning forward as he downed a bit of pumpkin juice.

"Mine," Hope said coolly and she had to duck as Sirius did a spit-take, dousing the rocks near Buckbeak with the juice.

"Hm…that is odd…when did you realize it was gone?" Sirius asked.

"When I saw it," Hope shrugged. She'd never been much of a wand magic kind of girl to begin with and that hadn't changed much.

They must've talked for hours, about the Tournament, about Crouch, about Voldemort, but it was starting to get late when Hope handed Sirius a picture. "This is for you," she said and Sirius took it.

Hope was grinning, looking like a Greek goddess, on the arm of a boy with dark skin and an easy smile. "You upgraded."

She gave him a filthy look. "That's my brother, _you ass."_

"Oh, oops." Sirius threw a sheepish look her way and she glowered. "You look a lot like your mum when you're pissed."

"Thanks," Hope said without feeling, softening slightly. "George isn't a bad guy, you know, he's a great guy, who respects me and loves me, okay?"

Sirius grumbled. " _Okay."_

She gave him one last hug, pressing a kiss to his thin cheek before following her friends out, leaving Sirius to look at the picture again. He flipped it over.

_Dean and Mari, Yule Ball '95_

"Mari?" he murmured to himself in a bit of bemusement.

* * *

Ron and Hermione had gotten a bit ahead of her, probably thinking that she was going to be lingering a bit, so Hope made her way back down to Hogsmeade and back to the castle alone and nearly knocking over Fleur in the process.

"Fleur! Oh, I'm so sorry!" Hope was quick to apologize, rushing to pick up the books her friend had dropped. "I wasn't really watching where I was going."

"Eet eez alright," Fleur assured her with a bright smile. "I 'ave not seen you in a while. 'Ave you been busy?"

"Sort of," Hope admitted, raking a careless hand through her hair, which didn't keep it from looking windswept. "Gryffindor Tower has been crazy, it's like they didn't think I was going to get this far, and I'm not sure if I should be insulted or not." She was spending more time there before returning to Morea's chamber. Hermione had suggested, several times, that Hope come back to the dormitory but Hope's sleeping habits, nightmares, and tendency to stay up reading and researching kept her from agreeing.

And it was easier to hide that Hope needed a lot of blood replenisher potion if she wasn't sleeping in the dormitory.

Fleur gave a throaty laugh at that. "You are younger than ze rest of us, it does not surprise me."

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted or not about that either," Hope added in a wry voice, her eyes glancing over Fleur's items. A new quill and parchment, along with some books on Curse-breaking… "So, I take it you and Bill have become quill-pals, then?"

Fleur's cheeks pinked at Hope's words. "Yes, eez zat a bad zing?" she asked a little defensive.

"Not at all," Hope said, baring her teeth in a grin, "but I, _of course_ , claim full credit for pushing you towards him."

Fleur huffed in indignation. "You are _terrible!"_

"It has been said," Hope agreed in amusement. "Did he kiss you?"

Fleur reddened further. "Eet was not like zat!" she insisted. "Eet was on my cheek. Eet was sweet!"

"Uh-huh," Hope said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at her friend. "Right…"

 _"Silence_ ," Fleur grumbled in annoyance. "'Ave you started getting ready for the Third Task?"

"A little," Hope admitted, "I probably should be doing a bit more, but it's not until June."

"And zen you will scramble to prepare," Fleur said wisely. "As you 'ave the last two times."

"Oh, shut up," Hope said, sticking her tongue out at the French champion. The first one she'd had more of a handle on, but even then, she'd been practicing spells almost constantly, "That's just the way I function."

"Eet won't do to be running on lack of sleep for the next task, zough," Fleur said agreeably, earning her a frown.

"Story of my life," Hope snorted before switching the topic so quickly that Fleur stared. "So, how is your little sister?"

"Eet eez funny you should ask about 'er," Fleur with a secret smile, "because she 'asn't stopped talking about you, according to my mozzer."

Hope couldn't even stifle a groan that time. "Oh, no, that's the last thing I wanted."

"You are 'er 'ero," Fleur told her, "she eez very grateful to you for rescuing 'er in ze task."

Hope opened her mouth to say that Gabrielle hadn't really been in any danger, despite the morbidity of the song in the golden egg, but she gave it up as a waste of time.

"My parents wish to meet you," Fleur admitted.

"Huh? Why?" Hope asked flummoxed.

"You are my first friend," she explained, "zey wanted to know if you wanted to come to France for a few weeks after ze end of school."

"Really?" Hope asked a little struck. "That would be… _amazing!"_ She paused, remembering her schedule. "It might just have to be just a week, though, I've got summer class." Fleur gave her a confused look, but Hope waved her off. "Long story…and knowing the headmaster, I'd probably have to give a few people the slip, but yeah, sounds like fun!"

Fleur, through pleased by her response, was confused and surmised there were a lot of things about Hope that weren't strictly normal.

* * *

George was in heaven and Hope was laughing, _loudly_. "Love, this is the best thing I've _ever seen."_

"Better than me?" Hope asked, batting her eyelashes and George choked, honestly comparing, because Hope was wearing a pair of shorts that made her scars from her accident stand out boldly on her skin, her hair turned a bronze plaited into a rough fishtail.

" _Ooh!_ Don't make me choose!"

Hope laughed again before waving kindly at the woman manning the station, speaking to her in fluid Greek, saying something that made her laugh and return something in the same language.

"What did you say? What did she say?"

"I was just telling her how into potion-making you are," Hope shrugged, "she said she hopes you find something to use in your next potion."

Hope had a slight accent that he doubted she realized she had, probably something she'd picked up from Nath, she'd once said he was Greek.

"I…there's a lot here," George admitted awkwardly, "I don't want to…take all your money."

Hope's eyes softened and that molten black suited her far more than the green or the hazel. "Dearest, it's your birthday, let me splurge a little for you, yeah?"

He almost asked her about the 'dearest' comment but then he thought better of it. "Okay, but I'm not getting much."

"You do you, baby," Hope said affably, and ten minutes later she was paying for his Venomous Tentacula seeds, fairy wings, oocamy eggs, and murtlap tentacles, all very rare ingredients and not really allowed to be sold in Britain, but that didn't mean you couldn't get them. Which maybe wasn't technically legal, but when had Hope or George ever cared about legal. "But I think Snape's figured out you're stealing from him."

"What'd he threaten you with? Detention?" Because he was always threatening Hope, even if she hadn't done anything wrong. "Poison?"

"Veritaserum, actually."

George paused. "That might actually be illegal."

"I'm gonna turn into Moody, I swear, only drinking from my flask." Hope snorted before leaning up to kiss just under his jaw. "Ready to head back?"

And George slid his hand easily into hers with a smile.

* * *

The next few months seemed to fly by faster than Hope would have thought possible and it seemed like every day she was spending all of her time not on school work on researching new spells until May was upon her, leaving her only a bit more than a month left to prepare.

(She probably shouldn't've spent a few weeks on that new spell that she was calling Peverell's Mirror Gate, which worked like a Mirror Bridge, except without the bridge, so you stepped through one mirror and stepped out the other. And it was less draining, requiring less magic, which meant it was more valuable to Hope, as limited as she was.)

"Exactly how many spells are you planning on learning for the Third Task?" Ron asked, a little aghast as Hope poured over a thick tome on offensive magic, having finished her Transfiguration work early.

"Not really sure," Hope said, only half paying attention to what he was saying as she mouthed the incantations, making the movements with her wand, "better to over-prepare than to under-prepare, I guess."

"Stunning Spell…Reductor Curse…Conjunctivitis Curse," Hermione read aloud from the book. "You aren't playing around."

"Er, _'death toll,'_ anyone?" Hope asked with a slightly irked expression as the bell rang for the end of class. It had nothing to do with Ron, of course, Hope was bad tempered as death dates got closer and closer. It had been worse when she was younger but Hope had a booklet dedicated to death dates and Barty Crouch Sr.'s had just come due. It was tonight and Hope was sick to her stomach. She didn't even _like_ Crouch but she didn't like knowing when people were going to die _even more._

The buzzing in her ears was only going to get stronger.

"Miss Potter, a moment please."

" _Shit!"_ Hope muttered under her breath, making Ron smirk and Hermione toss her a look of disapproval. Hope ignored it, shoving her books into her bag and standing as Professor McGonagall approached her desk.

Professor McGonagall didn't comment on her not working on Transfiguration homework, much to Hope's relief. "You are to meet Mr. Bagman and the other champions at the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock," she told her, "then Mr. Bagman will tell you all about the Third Task."

"Wonderful," Hope muttered to herself, repeating the words hours later in the presence of Cedric as they walked down to field together. The buzzing was getting stronger. "Most likely to die? That would probably be me."

"Oh, come on," Cedric said, nudging her shoulder, "you handled the other tasks pretty well."

"Yeah, well," Hope wrinkled her nose, avoiding look at him too much, as she had the entire year, the symbol of his upcoming death almost too much to bear, "that was different." She blinked a few times, schooling her expression to hide her misery.

"Fleur thinks it's something to do with underground tunnels and treasure," Cedric mentioned, making Hope laugh.

"Yeah, she told me, but I doubt it's that," Hope disagreed, "I told her most of the tunnels are actually _inside_ the castle."

"Which you would know all about."

Hope gave him a small wink and a smirk as they walked across the lawn before they both had to stop and stare in horror.

"What have they _done?!"_ Hope demanded, aghast, running to examine the field that was no longer cut low but was instead gaining height, and Hope didn't want to think about how tall they'd be when the task actually began.

"They're hedges," Cedric said, leaning forward as well, "but why—?"

"Hello there!" Hope had to hide a frown as an all-too-familiar voice called out to them and she and Cedric turned to see Ludo Bagman striding forward with Viktor and Fleur at his sides. "Well what d'you think? Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high."

Fleur smothered a giggle at how Hope seemed to be at a loss for words, too abhorred at how the Quidditch pitch had been ruined.

"Don't worry," he said quickly, taking in their expressions with obvious amusement that they couldn't share, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

Hope arched an eyebrow, sharing a confused look with Fleur.

"Maze," a low voice said. Hope started for a moment only to realize that it was Viktor that had spoken. She'd hardly heard him speak, unless it was to Hermione.

Hope frowned. She didn't mind mazes or puzzles or riddles…but it looked like the maze was going to end up being incredibly tall. She wondered if she could climb it; Hope was good at climbing. Besides, a maze couldn't be worse than a dragon, right?

Actually, knowing the people in charge…it probably _was._

"That's right! A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"I'm guessing it's not as simple as it sounds," Hope said dryly. _When was it ever?_

"Very good, Hope!" Hope thought that if he was any more excited then he would be floating. "There will be obstacles. Hagrid is providing a number of creatures—" Hope and Cedric paled immediately. "—then there will be spells that must be broken...all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze." He nodded towards Hope and Cedric. "Then Mr. Krum will enter...then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

Hope grimaced, looking to Cedric. She wasn't in Care for Magical Creatures anymore, but she'd heard the stories from Ron to know a lot of the creatures weren't the kind you wanted to run into, especially in a maze.

"Very well…" He glanced around to the four. "If you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly..."

He had started to move towards Hope, like usual -Hope didn't know what his deal was with her, but she'd mentioned it to Quinn who'd told her rather stonily that it was probably best if she was never alone with Bagman, which Hope thought was fair-, when Viktor captured her attention.

"Could I haff a vord?" he inquired.

Hope's eyebrows rose. "Uh, sure." She wasn't sure if they'd ever talked to each other privately, apart from the occasional approving nod. She waved goodbye to Fleur and Cedric and assured the ever-insistent Bagman that he didn't need to wait for her.

"Vill you valk vith me?" Viktor asked.

"Sure," Hope said carefully, giving him an odd look before walking along side him as they passed by the maze to walk along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was very late now and the sun had almost completely vanished on the horizon, leaving the slightest haze of light. Hope didn't say anything when she caught him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. Her name was famous, even in Bulgaria, but she was never quite what anyone expected.

"So," Hope said uncomfortably, "what is this really about?"

"Hermy-own-ninny."

Hope stifled her chuckles at how Viktor pronounced Hermione's name. She didn't think he'd ever get her name right…but, honestly, Hermione was the last thing she'd've thought that Viktor would want to talk about.

"I vont to know if there is anyone she has…" He cut himself off looking a little embarrassed and Hope hid an amused smile.

"Dated?" Hope offered helpfully. "No, Hermione's never really had any one show her that much interest." Ron wouldn't really appreciate that, but he and Hermione were certainly skilled at refusing to admit their feelings to one another.

"She talks about you and that-Ron- often," he said as Hope cast her eyes into the darkness, getting the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched.

The buzzing was getting stronger.

She knelt down to reach a hand out to a stray garden snake slithering in the lush green.

"Yeah, she would," Hope said absently, "we're all friends." She held the snake's head to her ear, frowning as she listened intently to its hiss…her wand was in her hand in a matter of seconds.

"Someone's out there," she said steadily. _"Lumos!"_

The light that erupted from her wand was so bright that it made the person stagger away from the trunk of an oak tree that he had been hiding behind. Hope almost dropped the snake in surprise. "Mr. Crouch?"

He hardly looked like the man that Hope had snarled at back in October. Of course, he hadn't been looking very well then, either, but now his robes were hanging loose on him, ragged and ripped, his hair in complete disarray, and his eyes a touch wild. The shadow of death hanging over him was impossibly black and Hope choked on her tongue briefly.

"Vosn't he a judge? Isn't he vith your Ministry?" Viktor asked, taking a step back, unnerved, but Hope ignored him.

"Mr. Crouch?" Hope asked carefully, the snake curling around her arm as she stepped forward, but Viktor grabbed her arm.

"Is he safe?"

"Only one way to find out," Hope reasoned as she approached further, close enough now to hear what he was saying.

"...and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament," Mr. Crouch was saying, "Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve..."

He was talking like it was before Halloween when the champions had been chosen…that couldn't be a good sign.

"Mr. Crouch?" she repeated, but he didn't seem to hear her, like she wasn't even there.

"...and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen ... do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will..."

He stumbled away and Hope reached out a hand to steady him, but he recoiled. "Mr. Crouch?" she repeated. "Are you all right?" Because it was clear that he wasn't. "Should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

He didn't answer her, and a glance to Viktor told her that she wasn't the only one who was apprehensive about his condition.

"Vot is wrong with him?" he asked in alarm.

"He's acting…a little _off_." It was an understatement and Hope doubted she knew him well enough to judge, something she had always been glad of; better to not know the one that had destroyed Sirius' life. "I should grab—"

"Dumbledore!"

Hope yelped as he pulled her by her robes towards him. Viktor raised his wand to fire a spell, but Hope held up a hand. "It's all right, I was just a little surprised, that's all." She turned her eyes towards Mr. Crouch. "Mr. Crouch…do you need to see Dumbledore?"

He nodded fervently, his eyes rolling. "I need...see...Dumbledore...I've done...stupid...thing…must...tell...Dumbledore..."

"Mr. Crouch," Hope said with more patience than before, "We can take you to Dumbledore, but you're going to have to walk on your own."

It was as if her voice had finally penetrated his ears and he looked at her in a haze of confusion.

"Who...you?" he breathed, curious like a child in a strange world. His eyes didn't even do the typical flick up to her forehead like everyone's did.

"I-I'm a student here," Hope said, befuddled by the question.

"You're not his?" he asked in a feverish manner.

Hope didn't have any idea who he was talking about, but she decided it would be better to just go with: "No."

"Dumbledore's?" he asked, his eyes reflecting the moon, bright and wide and just a little terrifying, but still nowhere close to the Blood-Stained Tree.

"Yes." Hope's knees almost buckled when he pulled more tightly on her robes, throwing more weight on her than she had ever been used to.

"Warn…Dumbledore…" He rasped, clutching her shoulders so hard Hope was sure she was going to get bruises, and then it was like a switch had been flipped and he was talking to air again. "Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge." In fact, he was talking to her like she was 'Weatherby'. "Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.L.S, most satisfactory, yes, thank you, yes, very proud indeed. Now, if you could bring me that memo from the Andorran Minister of Magic, I think I will have time to draft a response..."

"Mr. Crouch, I'm going to need you to let me go," Hope said calmly, "so I can go and get Dumbledore—" The snake tightened over her arm, rearing its head as if to bite.

"Don't...leave...me!" he whispered, his mouth gaping and his pupils the size of saucers. "I...escaped...must _warn_...must _tell..._ see Dumbledore...my fault...all my fault...Bertha... _dead_...all my fault...my son...my fault...tell Dumbledore...Hope Potter...the Dark Lord...stronger...Hope Potter..."

Hope gritted her teeth together. The buzzing was making it hard to hear now…the last time it'd happened, she'd gotten a terrible headache and it was so close now. Hope was aching to scream.

"Viktor," she said sharply and he stood to attention on reflex, "there's a suit of armor outside the Great Hall with the Slytherin crest. Tell it it's lady wants it to get the headmaster, tell it that it's an emergency."

And if Viktor thought it was an odd thing to ask for, he didn't say, he just nodded seriously and sprinting away, leaving Hope with Mr. Crouch.

"Mr. Crouch," Hope grasped one of the arms he was using to cling to her, "what about the Dark Lord getting stronger?"

"Terrible," Mr. Crouch breathed, "terrible…his… _little thief_ …"

Hope didn't understand. "Did someone steal something from him? Did Bertha?"

"Nononono," Mr. Crouch shook his head violently and Hope remembered what she'd seen through that door in her mind before school even started.

_"She has robbed me of more than you can imagine."_

"I stole something," Hope realized before giving Mr. Crouch a little shake. "What was it?"

Mr. Crouch was shaking all over and he leaned forward to start to whisper, but then something hit Hope in the back of the head and the buzzing blocked out everything before it silenced and Hope faded into blackness.

* * *

She hardly slept after the fiasco of that night. Viktor had managed to get her message sent, but by the time they'd been found, Hope was knocked out and Mr. Crouch was gone and Hope had tiredly corrected that he was 'dead, not missing' in front of Snape, who apparently had a problem with her not actually seeing his supposed death.

" _Wow_ ," Hope had said loudly, "you mean you actually _want_ evidence? Didn't seem that important to you last year, so I must've knocked my head _really hard."_

That hadn't gone over well but Hope didn't care. She'd been escorted back up to the Tower, telling Ron and Hermione what happened before they all decided to hole up in Morea's room, waiting until first light to send a letter out to Sirius.

"Maybe you should tell Nath too," Hermione suggested as they walked towards the spire that held the school and student owls.

"Nath's got his own life, and his twin brother's visiting him this week," Hope said in an exhaustive manner. "I don't want to worry him…and Hyp is apparently a lot of handle." Hope liked Hyp, though -strange name notwithstanding because how did you have twins and name one 'Hyp' and the other 'Nathaniel'?- he was eccentric and never let anyone tell him what to do, which was all the more amusing because it exasperated Nath to no end.

 _"Ooh_ , poor guy," Ron uttered, hiding a yawn with difficulty.

"Tell us again what Mr. Crouch said," Hermione told Hope, making her friend's shoulders slump slightly.

"I've told you a _hundred times!"_

"Then make it a hundred-and-one!"

Hope gave a long sigh. "Alright, he was pretty insistent on seeing Dumbledore and he said he'd done something stupid…something about it being his fault that Bertha Jorkins was dead, something about his son, and Voldemort getting stronger."

She hadn't told anyone about her supposedly stealing something from Voldemort, mostly because she didn't know what exactly it was that she'd stolen…maybe he counted losing his body as a theft?

Ron flinched as Hope said the name. "But, he was mental, it wasn't like he even knew what he was saying when he said that."

"You weren't there," Hope pressed insistently. "He sounded pretty sane when he talked about Voldemort."

"But he was _in_ sane!" Hermione added.

Hope glared _. "Thank you,_ I hadn't quite figured that out for myself."

"Whoa, easy!" Ron stepped between them before a rare fight could break out. "We all need to calm down!"

Each girl took a calming breath and fell silent as Hope tied the letter to a grey-feathered owl, grateful that Hedwig was still out hunting and wouldn't see her using someone else instead of her.

"We need to see Professor Moody," Hermione said at long last, "maybe he found Mr. Crouch." That's what he'd been sent out to do last night before Hagrid had escorted Hope away.

"His corpse, you mean," Hope muttered.

"We don't know that he's dead," Ron interjected pointedly.

 _"Trust me,"_ Hope said and they both thought her eyes looked uncommonly old, "all they're going to find is a _corpse."_

"So, you say, but a corpse is still something to find, isn't it?" Hermione's tone was very direct and Hope didn't have the energy to keep arguing about it.

"Shh!" Ron hissed suddenly and they all fell silent at the sound of two familiar voices grew steadily closer, arguing lowly, but still echoing off the stone all the same.

"—that's blackmail, that is, we could get into a lot of trouble for that—"

"—we've tried being polite; it's time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn't like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did—"

"I'm telling you, if you put that in writing, it's blackmail!"

"Yeah, and you won't be complaining if we get a nice fat payoff, will you?"

Fred and George stared at the three fourth years who had clearly heard what they had just been saying.

"What're you doing here?" Ron said at the exact same time as Fred.

"Sending a letter," George and Hope said, the former defensively and the latter in bemusement.

"What, at this time?" Hermione and Fred demanded.

"Fine," Fred said, clearly trying to downplay the situation, but George looked much too tense for Hope to believe his act, "We won't ask you what you're doing, if you don't ask us."

"Who're you blackmailing?" Ron asked in suspicion.

George forced a smile onto his face, but it was clearly faked. "Don't be stupid, I was only joking."

"Right," Ron said in a voice that told him he didn't believe that for a second, "and if Hope stabbed you, you'd apologize to her."

George arched an eyebrow and Hope snorted.

"You never know, he might be into that," Fred conceded.

George glowered at his twin with a red face, while Hope rolled her eyes. "He's not a masochist."

Ron gagged. "You both disgust me."

Hope smirked widely. "Snogging behind suits of armor while Snape walks past is, like, prime snogging location, no lie."

"You're the worst," George told her, clearing his throat loudly.

"That's why I'm leaving you for Fred," Hope promised, blowing said boy a kiss. Fred winked back.

Ron cleared his throat, trying to get them back to the original topic. "Blackmail?"

"I've told you before, Ron," Fred said with warning, "keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can't see why you would, but—"

Hermione scowled and Hope sighed at the ceiling.

"It's my business if you're blackmailing someone," Ron said stoutly, glowering at them like his mother. "George's right, you could end up in serious trouble for that."

"I was _joking,"_ George insisted. "You're starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you'll be made prefect."

"No, I won't!" Ron looked as though he had never been quite so insulted in his life as George released the barn owl with their letter outside.

"Well, stop telling people what to do then. See you later." He tried to follow Fred but Hope barred his exit, staring him down with a fierce frown. He sighed. "What? Going to judge me too?"

Hope really didn't have the energy to, though, so all she asked was "Can I have a hug?"

George was surprised by the request and even more startled by how she sagged into him. "Rough night?" he surmised. "Nightmares abound?"

Hope didn't respond.

"Hey, love—" He craned his neck to look down on her and stare. "She just fell asleep on me."

"Yeah, she hasn't been sleeping that great," Hermione said, patting his arm kindly, "remember to tuck her in, she's been really cold lately."

"Hang on, where're you two going?" George asked, maneuvering his girlfriend so he was holding her bridal style. She was lighter than the last time he'd carried her; he didn't like to think about how much weight she'd lost during the tournament.

"We've got class in a little bit," Ron pointed out, "and I don't think Hope's going to make it to that."

Hermione waved cheerily as they left him with Hope, staring after them, open-mouthed.

* * *

Hope was staring at the door again. She didn't like it, it was something in her mind that she hadn't put there and she really didn't like that, the same way she didn't like wand magic, or having a magical core forced inside her.

And doors worked two ways, so Hope had done what she could and literally barricaded in with so many chains and locks. You couldn't get past it without making a lot of noise, but Hope's curiosity was one of her worst qualities.

When she walked through it to the other end, she was looking out of the ripped apart room into the same darkened room with the armchair holding Voldemort turned away as it had been the last time she'd seen it, with the large snake coiling itself around the foot pegs, while Pettigrew was sprawled, whimpering before him.

"You are in luck, Wormtail." Voldemort's cold voice was sharp in the quiet. "You are very fortunate indeed. Your blunder has not ruined everything. He is _dead."_

Hope swallowed. Was he talking about Mr. Crouch?

It was in relief that Wormtail gasped out: "My Lord, I am…I am so pleased…and so sorry…"

"Nagini." It took Hope a moment to remember that that was the snake's name. "You are out of luck. I will not be feeding Wormtail to you, after all…but never mind, never mind…there is still Hope Potter…"

Hope's mouth thinned into a hard line.

"Now, Wormtail," he continued, "perhaps one more little reminder why I will not tolerate another blunder from you…"

Fear shone in his eyes. "My Lord…no…I beg you…"

" _Crucio!"_

Hope's eyes shot open and she breathed out, looking around herself in confusion before realizing it was the bed chamber attached to Morea's room. She was tucked in and beside her, on top of the covers was George, sleeping easily with the Book of Potions open on his stomach.

She smiled fondly before easing herself carefully out of the room to down about half a gallon of blood replenisher, returning to covers. And when George came around later, it was to find Hope tucked against him, face buried in his chest and sleeping far better than she had in weeks.

He smiled and went back to sleep.

* * *

Hope went for a very obvious approach that no one else had stopped to consider.

She mapped the maze and checked every night to make sure it hadn't changed, because she wasn't certain that the officials wouldn't change it…but they also might not've expected something so…muggle as making a map to guide her.

Not that she wasn't studying up to her eyeballs.

(She didn't even notice when Mrs. Weasley neglected to send her an Easter egg, apparently believing that Hope was two-timing George with Dean, which everyone agreed was ridiculous; Quinn and Diane sent her chocolate-covered pomegranate clusters and Dean chocolate and peanut butter eggs)

She was pretty sure that Professor McGonagall was worried that she might actually die, which was why she was slightly back to the old arrangement of missing out on classes, but it was just Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, this time around.

She didn't have any final exams to plan for, but they were giving her completion credit for studying for the task, which Hope appreciated, so she studied her way through the books in that room on the seventh floor that she had no idea what the name of was.

"Hope, _sweetie_ ," Angelina said gently at the table, "I'm saying this from a place of _love_ …you need to get your head out of that book."

"Place of love?" Hope arched an eyebrow before scowling down at the _Daily Prophet_. "Oh, what's Rita saying about me now?"

She grabbed the paper before anyone else could stop her.

" _Hope Potter "Disturbed and Dangerous","_ she read out archly. "Ah, taking the approach she did with my mother, I see… ' _seems to be familiar with unsavory elements such as the magician Henry Fogg, whose use of horomancy has resulted in his ban from Greater London_.'" Hope snorted. "Well, I guess that's why an Auror for the MoM is living in Greece, but honestly, horomancy? There are other specialties that you would've thought were more concerning. You know, like necromancy or, I don't know, precognition—"

"What's that?" Ron hissed to Hermione.

"Seeing things before they happen," Hermione replied.

"Hm, must make winning the lottery easy."

 _"'Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoer_ s." Similarly, " _anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence_."'" Hope scowled fiercely. "A member of the Dark Force Defense League who wished to be unnamed? Whatever, he clearly relies on prejudice to solve his problems. Parseltongue is an _inherited_ skill."

Hope threw the paper back down in annoyance, running her hands back to hike her hair into a high bun.

"You okay?" George asked carefully.

"People are idiots and that's not likely to change." Hope rolled her eyes and George kissed her cheek.

"Ignore them," Alicia offered sagely, "you're gonna be great tonight."

Hope's nerves were starting to kick up again. "Thanks," she said.

"I have an idea!" Hermione said suddenly, practically vibrating in excitement. "I think I know…because then no one would be able to see…even Moody…and she'd have been able to get onto the window ledge outside the hospital wing…but she's not allowed…she's definitely not allowed…I think we've got her! Just give me two seconds in the library– just to make sure!"

"Do you think she's ever going to tell us anything?" Ron demanded of Hope as Hermione raced through the doors of the Great Hall, jostling a pair of Hufflepuff second years as she did so.

"Doubtful," Hope said abysmally, momentarily distracted by Professor McGonagall coming up to her.

"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," Professor McGonagall said and Hope promptly panicked.

"But…I thought the task wasn't until tonight!" She did a frantic double take that would have been quite comical if she had been joking.

"I'm aware of that, Potter," Professor McGonagall said dryly. "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."

And then she strode away, leaving Hope gobsmacked in her wake. Hope hadn't been back to the Dursleys in over a year, but she hadn't told anyone that she'd been effectively kicked out following Marge's death, like Hope had caused her death, which was ridiculous because she'd been in Scotland at the time.

Cross her fingers for someone else.

"Later, baby." She kissed George's cheek, ignoring all their friends' cat-calling and making kissy-faces at the pair of them, before following after Professor McGonagall.

Fleur stood up eagerly, heading off in the direction the professor had indicated, leaving Hope horrified as she entered the room. The three of the other champions were already greeting their own parents, so where—

A smile bloomed across her face. "Mum! Quinn!"

The pair were looking as radiant and as imposing as usual and they weren't nearly as well-dressed as the other parents. Quinn's multicolored dreadlocks were tied back into a very thick ponytail, eye hidden behind their usual yellow-lensed glasses. Diane was wearing jeans and looking like she was off to the grocery store.

They both embraced her easily, laughing. "What, you thought we wouldn't come to see you again?"

Hope grimaced. "I didn't want you to come to the last one because—"

"You were freaking out?" Quinn asked arching an eyebrow. "Yeah, _we figured._ This is _you_ we're talking about. Luckily, I know a great therapist."

Hope opened her mouth to say something to that when something small latched onto her waist. She looked down hardly surprised to find little Gabrielle Delacour with her arms wrapped around her, smiling angelically upwards. Gabrielle was as fond of Hope as she had been the day she pulled her out of the lake. Hope didn't mind too badly; the girl was rather a sweet, if a bit shy.

She hid her face when Diane and Quinn looked at her curiously.

"Gabrielle," Hope said, "why don't I get you back to your mum, yeah?"

She gave her parents a sheepish smile with a murmur of "One moment," before leading the eight-year-old back to Fleur and her mother, who was taller than Fleur but no less radiant and breathtaking. Both Fleur and her mother had been watching their exchange in interest and amusement.

"You must be 'Ope," Fleur's mother smiled. "Fleur 'as told us so much about you."

Hope shook her hand with a faint grin. "All bad things, I'm guessing."

Fleur laughed. "Of course not!"

"Lie," Hope sniggered as Gabrielle released her with a pout, "well, I've got to get back to my own parents, see you, Fleur."

Fleur watched in a bit of bemusement as Hope returned to her group, looping an arm around on of their arms.

"Why don't you give us a tour, sweetheart?" Diane offered, leaning her head against the top of Hope's smiling faintly. "I've only been here to give that aggravating headmaster of yours a stern talking to."

Hope sniggered, trying not to be sour about him in general. "Yeah, well he definitely deserves that…yeah, come on…"

She tugged them forward towards the door, almost running into the Diggorys.

"There you are, are you?" Amos Diggory said, looking Hope up and down like he was sizing her up and she didn't come close to measuring up. "Bet you're not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric's caught you up on points, are you?"

Hope threw a look Cedric's way, unimpressed.

"Ignore him," Cedric advised quietly. "He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeters article about the Triwizard Tournament – you know, when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion."

"Didn't bother to correct her, though, did she?" Mr. Diggory pointed out fiercely, raising his voice a bit. "Still… you'll show her, Ced. Beaten her once before, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry," Hope said, equally loudly, dripping in saccharine, "I didn't catch your name the last time we met, you know, when you were too busy shoving the fact that I was a victim of a dementor attack in my face."

 _"Amos!"_ his wife reproached while he purpled and Hope strode out of the door without a look back.

"Wizards," Quinn told her sagely, "all bark, no bite."

And Hope burst into laughter. "Come on, I'll show you where I sleep…" And she tried not to think that that night would mark the second time that she'd have to strike through a name for a death occurring that year. She swallowed down the bile and forced a smile onto her face.

* * *

The day passed easily into night and before Hope knew it, her entire day had gotten away from her, but in the very best of ways. Quinn and Diane knew she disliked wand magic immensely, so seeing her in a place where it was so prevalent was incredibly eye-opening for them. Her discomfort wasn't overt, but they had gotten pretty good at reading her to see it was there.

"One day," Hope had said, "I'll be done with this wand magic."

Personally, Diane hoped that was sooner rather than later.

"Babe, you look hot and I don't think that George will survive," Quinn told Hope seriously at dinner, causing laughter to burst out and George turned red in the face.

"What the _hell_ , Quinn?" he managed out. "I thought you liked me!"

"Oh, _honeybear_ , I _do,_ I promise," Quinn simpered, "but my girl's number one, you know that."

Hope sniggered while Diane choked on her drink.

"I thought I was number one!" Dean said, offended.

"You were born on the same day, so you get to share the number," Quinn waved him off. "You're basically the same person."

"You need to get your remaining eye checked," Dean told them sourly as Hope howled with laughter with Ron and Seamus.

Hope was the only one not wearing student typical robes, instead she was dressed a little similarly to Diane, wearing jeans and a jacket, but it was her basilisk jacket, so it shimmered in the light, her hair pulled back into a black fishtail, and her knives secured.

George could do worse.

(George didn't think he could do better, which was the important part)

And when it was time to go and Hope bid her friends and family farewell, giving George a swift kiss, waving, and linking arms with Fleur as they headed down to the Quidditch pitch.

"Your family eez lovely," Fleur mentioned with a smile. She didn't comment on Hope not looking like Diane or Quinn.

Hope smiled slightly, nerves starting to get the better of her. "Yeah, they're pretty great…your mum was nice too, sorry I couldn't stay longer to chat."

"Don't worry about eet," Fleur assured her, "you can talk to 'er more after ze task eez over."

"And won't that be a relief," Hope said with a nervous laugh, dropping a hand to tap against the blade belted at the back of her waist, using the other to tug on the end of her plait.

It seemed like hours before everyone started to show up and fill the stands.

"We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze," Professor McGonagall as she came up to the four champions, gesturing to herself as well as Hagrid, Moody, and Professor Flitwick, all wearing large red stars on their uniforms. "If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send up red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?"

They all could only nod, too nervous to talk.

Professor McGonagall and Hagrid both gave her whispered wishes of luck, but she could hardly hear them as she moved to a spot before the maze, jittery with nerves.

"KICK SOME ARSE POTTER!"

She jumped at the sound of Fred and George's yell, glancing back into the crowd to see Dean with his mother and Quinn. She couldn't help but beam up at them as Hermione jumped up and down, cheering with them. Quinn tilted their glasses down to wink their one good eye and Diane was clapping, grinning.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Bagman's voice grew and echoed around the stadium. "The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied for first place, with eighty-five points each– Mr. Cedric Diggory and Miss Hope Potter, both of Hogwarts School!"

The explosion of cheers made Hope blush and she blew a kiss in George's direction, laughing as the Weasleys joked as to who it was for. _Obviously,_ it had been aimed towards Fred, not George…or at least, that was how he took it; she could barely see his wink from where she was. Before Ginny piped up that Hope had been looking at her, _obviously!_

"In second place," he continued, "with eighty points– Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!"

Durmstrang cheered wildly along with a good portion of the Slytherins.

"And in third place– Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!" The Beauxbatons students applauded loudly with a few select other students.

"So…on my whistle, Hope and Cedric!"

Hope tensed, turning back to the maze, readying to run into it, her wand held tightly in her hand, the maze map in her pocket. "Three-two-one—" The whistle pierced the air and Hope shot inside.

" _Lumos!"_ she hissed, following the path on swift feet until she came to a fork, almost crashing into Cedric in the process, but she didn't wait for him, she raced left, leaving him behind. Unfortunately for Hope, though, she had moved no more than about thirty feet when she happened across her first obstacle.

Hope went stark white at the sight.

It was huge, with a dragon's tail that swished back and forth, the body of a grey-furred goat, and with teeth bared from a lion head.

As much as Hope enjoyed Greek myths, the Chimaera was not a beast that would have ever wanted to face. Hope moved very slowly to replace her wand in her fore-arm holster and to unsheathe the blade at her back, flicking it to the full length sword she'd never been very good at using.

The Chimaera watched her every movement.

"Ooh-kay," Hope mumbled lowly, "please put a known-wizard killer beast in here, yes, very logical…maybe it's not into—" But she had to roll to avoid it as it pounced, twisting back into a standing position, and slicing the blade at it, but the most she did was slice off a few hairs before the sharp dragon tail grazed her hip, where the jacket stopped, ripping open the skin a little.

Hope bit back a cry of pain as she pressed a hand against the cut, ignoring the flare of that shot over her skin. It wasn't deep but it stung and Hope couldn't use her blood runes.

 _"Fuck_ ," Hope hissed as it leapt at her, just barely managing to sink the sword into its underbelly. It roared and whimpered as Hope pulled the sword out, but she didn't wait around, jumping over it and re-sheathing the sword, removing her wand and the bit of parchment in her pocket. She'd been in worse pain.

She took the next left and took a few violent steps back, choking on her tongue.

The Blood-Stained Tree was there, base thick, branches twisted, the blood still wet and dripping on it. Seeing it in her dreams never quite compared to the real thing, but it was no coincidence that it was in the maze now.

"Nice try," Hope gritted out, _"Riddikulus!"_

The boggart gave a small pop and erupted into confetti like a twisted party favor, and then Hope was off again, taking the next left, then a right, and another right—

She was so distracted by the strange noises that she walked right into her next obstacle which was a cloud of golden mist. She yelled as the world twisted and suddenly it was as if she was on the sky and she could fall into the bottomless pit that was the sky. Hope stood frozen, a bit terrified of moving when a sudden scream pierced the air.

_"Fleur!?"_

But there was no answer.

Hope steeled her nerves, screwing her eyes shut as she lifted one foot with difficulty from the grass, and she fell– to the ground once the world had returned to normal. She gasped for breath, not particularly enjoying the enemy that hadn't been something she could fire a spell at.

But she had to get moving so she hoisted herself, pausing at yet another fork in contemplation. That was the direction that Fleur's scream had come from; she was sure of it. But Fleur and Hope had agreed to not come to each other's aid in the maze, they wanted a fair match, so if one was taken down, then the other had a higher chance of winning. So, she turned in the opposite direction, following it by wand-light.

"What are you doing?!"

Hope froze at Cedric's voice, harsh and angrier than she would have ever thought it could have been. She started towards his voice, without really meaning to. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

 _"Crucio!"_ Viktor's voice incanting that curse made her blood run cold even without Cedric's pained yells shattering the night.

" _Reducto!"_ The hedge before her blew out from the force of her spell and she ran through pointing her wand. _"Stupefy!"_ Her blindly cast spell struck true and Viktor was thrown off his feet, his spell cancelling as he made contact with the ground, unmoving.

"Cedric!" Hope, forgetting that she shouldn't have been assisting Cedric like she had agreed not to for Fleur, raced to his side, pulling him upward with difficulty, her hand still slick from the blood from her side. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Cedric rasped, his voice strained from the brief torture. "Yeah…I don't believe it…he crept up behind me…I heard him, I turned around, and he had his wand on me…"

"Maybe he's been cursed," Hope offered weakly, making Cedric scoff lightly. "Did you hear Fleur scream?"

"Yeah, you don't think Krum got her too?" Cedric asked, eyeing the fallen Durmstrang champion with disgust.

Hope remained silent. She didn't want to say what she was thinking as she raised her wand and sent up a shower of crimson sparks. "We should go," she said finally.

"Right…see you…"

Hope went back through her hole to get herself back on track, running and running. She must've hit three more traps before she came upon the worst one.

A sphinx…great, that was just what Hope needed. Hope might've been good at riddles every now and again, but sphinxes were supposed to be the masters at riddles, which didn't make Hope feel too good about her chances.

"You are very near to your goal," the sphinx said, her voice low and almost guttural. "The quickest way is past me. The only way to pass is to answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess- I let you pass. Answer wrongly– I attack. Remain silent- I will let you walk away from me unscathed."

Hope breathed in and out deeply, steeling herself. "All right, let's hear it."

The sphinx stilled her rapid pacing to face her and recite the riddle for Hope to solve:

_"Only one color, but not one size,_

_Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies,_

_Present in sun, but not in rain,_

_Doing no harm, and feeling no pain,_

_What am I?"_

Hope was quiet for the longest moment.

"A shadow," she realized and the sphinx stepped aside.

* * *

Everyone was sitting on the edge of their seats when a loud " _FUCK THIS SHIT_!" pierced the air and someone managed to hoist themselves onto the top of a hedge, taking a leap to the next one, nearly falling, but managing to right themselves.

Quinn snorted approvingly.

* * *

It was pure chance, really. Hope had wanted to get there first, not because she wanted eternal glory or the reward, nothing like that, but because she didn't want Cedric to die and the buzzing in her ears was so loud.

It had been a vain thought, she knew. You couldn't stop death; you couldn't even _delay_ him. If you were meant to die, you were going to.

But Cedric was someone she liked and she didn't want him to die.

So, when her hand grasped one of the handles on the Triwizard Cup, she was pleased for exactly one second before she realized Cedric was on the other side. She was so angry, she wanted to _hit him_ , but they'd both grabbed it and Hope was jerked through space to land violently on the ground, sending Hope sprawling in a haze of confusion and pain.

She swallowed thickly, trying to right herself, but everything was aching and they were so far from Hogwarts and the shadow hanging over Cedric had never been blacker.

They had landed in a graveyard. It was dark and cold and the gravestones were covered in moss and vines, many with names showing wear from the elements.

She stood, looking at one of the tombstones.

_Tom Riddle_

Hope swallowed thickly.

"Did anyone tell you the Cup was Portkey?" Cedric asked her, pulling her attention back to where they were at present and then he was looking at her and seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you injured—?"

"Cedric," Hope rasped. _"I'm so sorry."_

The buzzing was dulling everything. She could barely hear the figure approaching, drawing closer and cradling something smile in his arms. Her forehead was giving her an aching headache, nothing like in first year, but it was there, a painful echo of how it had once felt.

She barely heard the words "Kill the spare," before the buzzing grew loud and then abruptly silent and Hope's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed on the ground.

It was only moments later that she came around, bound tightly against a gravestone, a fresh cut down her arm and Pettigrew was holding a vial over a cauldron, missing a hand that was bleeding profusely. And Cedric's body was an unmoving corpse.

"B-blood of the enemy…forcibly taken…you will…resurrect your foe." Hope quickly forced her eyes away as it glowed bright white. By the time Hope had opened her eyed once more, there was a ghostly mist hanging in the air, and to Hope's horror, a silhouette of a man could be seen from within, leaving the cauldron.

"Robe me," the voice from before demanded, and though in pain, Wormtail was quick to comply, taking the robes from before and pulling them over his master's head as the mist dissipated and Hope was left staring into the face of the man that had killed her parents. He was pale like the moon and he had eyes as red as freshly spilled blood and his nose was flat and had snake-like slits for nostrils.

This was Lord Voldemort.

If there was one thing that could be said about Hope, it was that between Voldemort and the Tree, she thought the Tree far more terrifying. Voldemort might've been a murderous monster who had slaughtered many, but he was still a man.

_And men could be killed._

She waited until he'd turned away from her to squeeze her cut arm back into the bindings, struggling to reach the hilt of her blade. If she could just get free, get to her wand and Cedric and the Portkey, she'd be safe, but that was a lot of 'if's.

Her fingertips barely brushed against hilt when she had to freeze as he turned his scarlet eyes on her once more. High, cold laughter filled the air as he withdrew a wand, thin and white like his fingers and used it to throw Wormtail to a gravestone not far from Hope.

"My Lord…" he whimpered, "my Lord…you _promised_ …you did promise…"

"Hold out your arm," he said, his voice uncaring, but relief sparked in Wormtail's eyes.

"Oh Master… _thank you_ , Master," he cried, holding out the arm that was still bleeding quite profusely from him cutting off the hand at the wrist, but Voldemort laughed a second time at that.

"The other arm, Wormtail."

The whimpers returned. "Master, please… _please…"_

But Voldemort ignored him, forcing the sleeve of Wormtail's left arm away and revealing a tattoo of some sort there, a skull with a snake spilling from its mouth; the Dark Mark that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup.

"It is back," he said, his voice soft. "They will all have noticed it…and now, we shall see…now we shall _know_ …" And then his finger made contact with the mark, burning it black and making Hope's scar ache with new pain as she managed to grasp the hilt firmly.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he mused, gazing upwards to the sky above as if searching for something amongst the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

His eyes fastened upon her, dark and glittering in the night. "Ah, Hope Potter…so long it's been…"

"Not long enough," Hope snarled, struggling against her bindings.

He seemed to be amused by that. "You sit, Hope Potter," he continued, "upon the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool…very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child…and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death…"

The headstone she was tied to cracked in her fury.

"Struck a nerve, have I?"

"Don't you _dare_ say a thing about my mother," Hope seethed, eyes flashing and the hazel darkening until it was blacked out entirely.

His laugh sent a chill down her spine. "Ah, so proud to be the child of a Mudblood…pity…You see that house upon the hillside, Potter?" Hope briefly redirected her attention to the mansion from before that must have been the place he was hiding out in, the one beyond the door in her mind. "My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was…He didn't like magic, my father…He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage…but I vowed to find him…I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name…Tom Riddle…"

Hope tightened her grip on her blade.

"Listen to me, reliving family history…why, I am growing quite sentimental…But look, Hope!" Hope's eyes involuntarily drifted in several directions where cloaked figures were melting out of the shadows. "My true family returns…"

Hope watched in disgust as each of them fell to their knees and kissed the hem of his robes before forming a circle around him, a circle of reverence.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," he spoke with that quiet voice that demanded silence. "Thirteen years…thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" His cold eyes swept over them, inhaling deeply. "I smell guilt. There is a stench of guilt upon the air…I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact- such prompt appearances! And I ask myself…why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

Silence followed his question. No one was brave enough, or foolish enough to step forward and speak. The loop holding the sword snapped silently under her bindings and she attempted to bring the sword up with difficulty.

"And I answer myself," Voldemort continued, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment…And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proof of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?"

Hope scoffed loudly, earning her a few head jerks from the followers who didn't seem to have noticed her before, but Voldemort didn't turn back to her.

"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort…perhaps they now pay allegiance to another…perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

The Death Eaters hissed and muttered, quick to shake their heads and disagree.

"It is a disappointment to me," Voldemort said, his voice ringing with danger. "I confess myself… _disappointed_ …"

At this comment, one of the followers threw himself before Voldemort, begging and pleading: "Master! Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

" _Crucio!"_

The Death Eater screamed in pain, pain that rocked his body and left him shaking once it had subsided. Hope looked away.

"Get up, Avery," Voldemort commanded in his soft voice. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years…I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

Wormtail was still sniveling at the loss of his hand and the pain he was currently in.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends."

Hope snorted. He deserved that fear, _every second of it._

"You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?" Voldemort said quietly still.

"Yes, Master!" Wormtail was quick to agree, even whimpering as he was. "Please…Master… _please…"_

"Yet you helped return me to my body," Voldemort's voice echoed in the silence that not even a gust of wind could disrupt. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me…and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…"

He did little more than a small twitch of his wand, molten silver bending into existence and melding to Wormtail's wrist to form a new hand.

No longer in pain, Wormtail gazed upon his new hand in awe, and Hope couldn't help but scowl fiercely. "My Lord, _Master_ …it is beautiful," he breathed, "thank you… _thank you…"_

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail." It sounded, to Hope, more like a threat than anything else.

"No, my Lord… _never,_ my Lord," Wormtail promised, backing away to take his place in one of the empty spaces left in the circle, leaving Hope with a sinking feeling that there were more still to come.

"Lucius, my slippery friend."

Hope started slightly. Malfoy's father? _Well, that figured._

"I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face," Voldemort said to the hooded man. "You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius...Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay...but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord," Lucius Malfoy's voice did not tremble in fear like the others' had, "I was constantly on the alert. Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me—"

Voldemort interrupted him swiftly. "And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer? Yes, I know all about that Lucius…You have _disappointed_ me…I expect more faithful service in the future."

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius agreed, bowing deeply, "of course…You are merciful, thank you…"

"The Lestranges should stand here," he said to the group, referencing a space for three beside Lucius. Hope hissed under her breath. The Lestranges got what they deserved, locked up in Azkaban for what they'd done to the Longbottoms. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me...When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored _beyond their dreams._ The Dementors will join us...they are our natural allies...we will recall the banished giants...I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear..."

He continued on. "Macnair...destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide..."

Macnair was the one who had been sent to decapitate Buckbeak, Hope remembered, and her hatred grew.

"And here we have Crabbe…you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?" He sounded vaguely like a reproachful father to his dim-witted sons.

"Yes, Master…"

"We will, Master…"

"The same goes for you, Nott," he said passing another shadow which tried to profess him as most faithful before pulling up short once he was cut off by Voldemort himself.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters," he passed, stopping before a prominent space, much more prominent than the Lestranges. "Three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return...he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever...he will be killed, of course...and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service. He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight..."

" _What're you looking at?"_ Hope barked as several pairs of eyes flashed towards her.

"Yes," Voldemort called out. "Hope Potter has kindly joined us for my re-birthing party. One might go so far as to call her my guest of honor."

Hope muttered something unsavory under her breath as another Death Eater spoke, Lucius. "Master, we crave to know...we beg you to tell us...how you have achieved this...this _miracle_...how you managed to return to us..."

Her blade was slowly but surely breaking through the bindings.

"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius…And it begins-and ends-with my young friend here." Hope scowled fiercely at Voldemort, their eyes meeting again as he approached her. "You know, of course, that they have called this girl my downfall? You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill her…and she robbed me of _so much more_ than just my body…shall I punish her for it?"

Hope barely had time to frown, not really hearing the answering jeers. " _Crucio!"_

It was excruciating and beyond description. White hot pain spread through her body and anyone else would've been screaming, but not Hope.

Hope didn't scream, _not for anyone_. It was an old rule she'd made up, but it had always felt like screaming was a dangerous thing to do, something indescribably known, like an old-age superstition.

Her teeth ground together and she contorted against the ropes, twisting against them until he let up the spell to the laughter of the Death Eaters.

But Hope wasn't listening to them, Hope was doing some very fast thinking.

Because Hope knew what it looked like to be out-manned and out-matched, that was the way it had been her whole life. When you were an orphaned kid in an abusive situation there was _no such thing as a cowardly retreat._

Cedric's body wasn't far from her, but the problem was the Cup was further away and Hope was nearly at her limit. Much more magic without any blood replenisher and she was going to head towards another seizure.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

"How did that feel, Hope?" Voldemort asked softly and Hope spat a glob of blood onto his cheek. "Clearly you take after your m—"

Hope moved quick, ripping her way out of the bindings and then bringing the blade in a sharp thrust forward, sinking through flesh.

The scream he released was of surprise and pain and Hope took vindictive pleasure at causing it, using her shoulder to push him back and racing forward to skid and clutch Cedric's still-warm arm.

"STOP HER!"

 _"Accio!"_ The Cup soared through the air and she clutched it tight, ripping through space as fast as she had before to crash to the ground for a second time.

The first thing Hope heard was screams as she reappeared at Hogwarts, still clutching Cedric's lifeless body, her tears still falling and mingling with the sweat and grime and blood.

She thought she heard Cho's scream from the crowd and it just _wasn't fair._ Cedric had deserved better and longer and… _more._ He'd always been kind and patient, and he listened, even when he was hurt about how she could barely look him in the eye over the past year.

Hope shook and the tears fell anew, blurring her vision, and someone tried to pull her from the body but she clung desperately to him. "No! No! _Cedric—!"_

"Hope! What happened?" Dumbledore's voice could hardly be heard over the eruptions of horror from the stands.

"Cedric," Hope gasped, " _Cedric—"_ She couldn't get anything else out, her tears coming now thick and heavy.

"What's going on? What's happened?" Hope could hardly focus on Fudge as his voice appeared out of thin air, her sorrowful eyes now a pale blue and fastened on Dumbledore's. "My God- Diggory! Dumbledore- he's _dead!"_

The words were echoed, but Hope couldn't listen to that either.

"Hope, let go of him." She was sure it was Fudge trying to pry her from Cedric's body, but she gripped him tighter still.

"Hope," Dumbledore's gentle voice pierced the hazy fog that had infested her brain. "You can't help him now. It's over. Let _go."_

"You don't _understand—!"_ Hope raised her head to glare furiously into Dumbledore's calm eyes. He didn't understand, _no one did._ No one knew what it was like, to know someone was going to die and then to be there when it happened…only Hope did and Hope was _alone._

"I do understand," he promised, but he had no idea, not really, "you did a good thing…just let go now…"

Hope's grip on Cedric's shirt loosened and she hardly felt it when Dumbledore pulled her off of the ground to stand on her own two feet, something that made her nearly crumple again. Her body was aching from the Cruciatus Curse, her head was pounding and stinging, and her hip still burned from where the Chimaera had thrashed her.

"What's happened?"

"What's wrong with her?"

_"Diggory's dead!"_

These yells only made Hope feel worse and all she wanted was someone she knew, someone who would just hold her; Diane, Quinn, Dean, George, anyone. She wanted to pass out, she wanted to run away, _far away._

She wanted to rip out her magic, regardless of it killing her.

All the voices were ringing in her ears and it took a little work to actually make things out again.

"I'll take Hope, Albus, I'll take her—"

"No, I would prefer—" Dumbledore started to say before his attention was diverted.

"Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running...he's coming over...Don't you think you should tell him– before he sees—?"

"Hope, stay here—" Dumbledore said and Hope was too out of it to comply when she was pulled away.

"It's all right, girl, I've got you...come on...hospital wing..."

"Hospital wing?" Hope mumbled, stumbling as she moved. Lying down wasn't going to make her feel any better; it was probably going to make her puke everything back up.

"You need to lie down...Come on now..."

The only sound Hope heard was the constant thunk of wood on stone from Moody's foot. Hope was lulled into a doze despite her pain, jerking abruptly from it when he finally spoke.

"What happened, Hope?" he asked.

"Cup didn't take us back," she mumbled, her words hardly discernible. "Took us to a graveyard…Vo-oldemort…" Her voice cracked on his name.

"The Dark Lord was there?" Moody asked suddenly. "What happened then?"

Why was he asking Hope all of these questions? She just wanted to forget that the night even happened.

"Cedric," she rasped his name with difficulty, "…they-they _killed—"_ Her eyes were welling with tears again.

"And then?"

Hope was numb with pain and grief and everything in between. "Potion…brought his body back…"

"The Dark Lord got his body back? He's returned?" Hope must have imagined the note of relief in his voice.

"Death Eaters…Voldemort, he—"

"Did you duel with the Dark Lord?"

Hope startled at that, growing a bit clearer. "What?"

He tugged her into his office and Hope shook her head to clear it more. "In here, Hope…in here, and sit down…You'll be alright now…drink this…"

Hope choked on the potion as she fell into the chair and she knew the familiar taste of Pepperup Potion.

"You'll feel better," Moody promised, "...come on, now, Hope, I need to know exactly what happened..."

Hope didn't want to speak, she was tired and she didn't know where her wand was or where her sword had gone.

"Is Voldemort's back, Hope?" he pressed. "Is he back? How did he do it?"

Hope rubbed her head, trying to gather her thoughts. Something felt off. "I don't know, some kind of potion…he took my blood." The inside of her arm was still shining crimson.

Moody hissed softly, examining her arm for a moment. "And the Death Eaters?" he insisted. "They returned?"

Hope could do little more than nod.

"How did he treat them? Did he forgive them?"

His hands were tight on Hope's shoulder and she could see his face shifting. Like a Polyjuice Potion had run out. And he was very interested in Voldemort forgiving the Death Eaters…

Hope's eyes shifted past him to the desk where she saw a familiar bit of parchment on his desk…he'd gotten over to them very fast when Mr. Crouch had disappeared…almost like he'd already been _nearby._ And he would've known that he was there if he'd had the map.

She looked back to him. "Wouldn't it be a pity to go through all that and to die from a stab wound?" she asked, baring her teeth. "Mortality _bites."_

Fury burned across his face and Hope didn't really feel it when he slapped her, too busy raising her legs up to kick him back and shout " _Shield!"_

An opaque dome bloomed around Hope to protect her from the curse that sped towards her, cracking its surface. Normally it would've been little more than a ripple, but Hope had been pushed to the max and it was that point that she coughed up blood that spattered across her knees before her eyes rolled back and she fainted.

She didn't so much as shift when the door was blasted open, throwing Moody back, remaining limp as several professors rushed forward to restrain the man. Professor McGonagall reached Hope's side in an instant, checking her over, pale at how her head lolled to the side. "Hope! _Rennervate!"_

Hope stirred, her eyes opening, and she jerked back to push herself farther away, not liking someone in her space.

"It's all right," Professor McGonagall said swiftly, "it's just me."

Hope relaxed slightly, but not very much, glancing around to see Dumbledore and Snape with their wands on the now unconscious Moody.

"Not for nothing," Hope said roughly, "but this whole fucking day has earned me the right to get _blackout drunk."_

Hope was no stranger to attacks and even less to murders; someone trying to kill her was unfortunately very normal. She was surprised it was Moody, but not surprised it had happened. She was tired and numb and in pain and she wanted to sleep.

_Or die._

But that was probably the depression talking.

Professor McGonagall looked almost like she was going to hug Hope and Hope couldn't help but stiffen immediately at the thought. Instead, she just helped Hope out of her chair, steadying her when she needed it

"Come along," she said gently, "hospital wing…"

"No." It took Hope a moment to realize that Dumbledore had spoken. His voice almost unrecognizable: harsh and cold and sharp enough to cut through stone.

"Albus," Professor McGonagall said in a voice of reproach, "she ought to – _look at her_!– she's been through enough tonight—"

"She will stay, Minerva," Dumbledore countered tersely, "because she needs to understand. Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. She needs to know who has put her through the ordeal she has suffered tonight, and why."

Hope thought she understood pretty well. Voldemort had been trying to kill her for years and that hadn't changed much. There was no confusion, there was no 'why?'. Hope was too used to misery and tragedy to question why things happened to her; she'd already accepted that she'd pulled the short stick of her lot in life.

"You need better taste in friends, Headmaster," Hope said shortly and Professor McGonagall's grip on her grew tight.

"This is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore said softly, his wand still aimed at the man in question. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew -and I followed." He leaned over the body to remove that little hip flask that Moody always seemed to be drinking out of. Hope had toasted him once before drinking out of her own, downing her blood replenisher while he nodded approvingly. "Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here."

Hope swallowed thickly. _Sirius_! He must've come up to the castle to watch her in the third task…she hadn't even noticed him. They'd been arguing more than anything else and Hope had been so frustrated with him -for risking his life coming back, for not liking George for petty reasons-, but all Hope wanted to do was hug him tight and never let go. She hardly felt Professor McGonagall's arm squeeze as she left her alone with Dumbledore and the Not-Moody. Hope jumped at the sound a trunk lid being thrown open and glanced to the trunk with seven locks, into which Dumbledore was gazing. Hope eased closer and looked down into it, staring at what lay within, deep, deep down.

It was Moody, the _real_ Moody, looking a little worse for wear…but was he alive?

Dumbledore climbed inside, dropping to the floor beside the man.

"Stunned," he said, and Hope breathed a little easier. "Controlled by the Imperius Curse- very weak. Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Hope, throw down the imposter's cloak -he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger."

Hope was nervous about approaching the Not-Moody, but she finally threw it down and moments later Dumbledore had returned to stand beside her, upending the hip flask he had taken from Not-Moody over the desk. Hope recognized the thick, mud-like appearance of Polyjuice Potion in an instant from when she, Ron, and Hermione had brewed it in second year.

"Polyjuice Potion, Hope," Dumbledore told her and she didn't feel the need to admit that she and her friends had once brewed it illegally. "You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair...The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven?" Hope couldn't from where she was, but she nodded. "But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done...on the hour...every hour...We shall see."

It seemed as though the time waiting for Fake-Moody to return to his normal visage was long, but it could have hardly been more than a few minutes before the scars on Fake-Moody's face faded, the marred flesh becoming smooth. The nose became smaller and whole. The grey hair shot back towards his skull, becoming short and straw-colored. The wooden leg fell away as a real one grew into place, and the magical eye was forced from its socket as a real one returned.

Hope stared at the face of Mr. Crouch's supposedly deceased son, the very face that she had worn back in October to incite Mr. Crouch. Hope didn't even turn at the sound of Snape and Professor McGonagall returning with Winky in tow, but she did hear Snape's startled surprise.

"Crouch!" Snape was aghast. "Barty Crouch!"

"Good heavens!" Professor McGonagall cried, struck at the sight of him. But Winky shrieked in alarm once she saw her unconscious former charge.

"Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?" She threw herself on top of him as if to shield him from anything further happening to him. "You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!"

"He is simply Stunned, Winky," Dumbledore corrected politely. "Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?"

Snape stepped forward with a small bottle that could have been holding water, but Hope found that unlikely. She could just make out the name: Veritaserum. It was the potion he'd threatened her with a few months ago, not knowing it was George actually stealing from him. It was also high on George's list of potions George was determined to brew before he died.

Barty Crouch Jr.'s mouth was pried open and three drops of the potion were dropped into the gaping mouth before Dumbledore revived him. His eyes flickered open, but instead of focusing on Dumbledore, who was directly before him, his eyes went to Hope's and he leaned forward as if intent on getting to her again, but three wands aimed at him, preventing him from doing so and Professor McGonagall stepped quickly between her student and the Death Eater.

"Can you hear me?"

Barty Crouch's eyes drifted back towards Dumbledore. "Yes."

"I would like you to tell us how you came to be here," Dumbledore said clearly. "How did you escape from Azkaban?"

The Veritaserum was apparently fast acting and withdrew the emotion from the voice at the same time. It was a bit disconcerting to Hope. "My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other's appearance."

"Say no more, Master Barty," Winky begged, " _say no more_ , you is getting your father into trouble!"

But Barty did not cede to her warning. Besides, it was a bit too late now; Mr. Crouch was long dead.

"The Dementors are blind," he continued flatly. "They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me."

"And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?" Dumbledore asked him.

"Staged my mother's death," he replied. "A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master ...of returning to his service."

"How did your father subdue you?" Dumbledore queried.

"The Imperius Curse."

Hope ground her teeth together. The man who had wrongly imprisoned Sirius, who had freed his guilty son, had actually used one of the Unforgivables…and he'd gone unpunished for it.

It was easy to hate Mr. Crouch.

"I was under my father's control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behavior."

Winky's hands were pressed firmly into her eyes, but even that could not muffle her voice or her sobs. "Master Barty, Master Barty…You isn't ought to tell them, _we is getting in trouble..."_

"Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?" Dumbledore asked. "Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?"

"Yes," Barty murmured, blinking his eyes lazily as if he was tired. "A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father s signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she'd found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently."

"Why is she coming to nose into my master's private business?" Winky cried, rocking forward and backward like Dobby once had. "Why isn't she leaving us be?"

"Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup."

In the same dullness as before, Barty continued, "Winky talked my father into it. She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house for years. I had loved Quidditch. _Let him go_ , she said. _He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once._ She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end…It was carefully planned. My father led me and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say that she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. When everyone had left the box, we would emerge. Winky would appear to be alone. Nobody would ever know…

"But Winky didn't know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight my father's Imperius Curse. There were times when I was almost myself again. There were brief periods when I seemed outside his control. It happened, there, in the Top Box. It was like waking from a deep sleep. I found myself out in public, in the middle of the match, and I saw, in front of me, a wand sticking out of a girl's pocket. I had not been allowed a wand since before Azkaban. I stole it. Winky didn't know. Winky is frightened of heights. She had her face hidden."

Hope's face paled as the monologue grew more and more detailed as she listened to how he had used her wand to create the Dark Mark, to cause fear within those Death Eaters that had abandoned his master as well as those who feared him. His sickly smile when he spoke of Voldemort had found him sent another shiver down her spine, how he had given him a job, an honorable job, to be placed at Hogwarts, to assist Hope on her way through the tasks of the Triwizard Tournament. He explained how he and Wormtail had attacked Moody and locked him in the trunk, taking him with him as he journeyed to Hogwarts. Hope's map had almost given everything away; so, he'd stolen it from her. Luckily, he'd shared his father's name.

She listened as he talked about killing his father, several people reacted to that and Hope was focusing too hard to notice Dumbledore watching her, taking in her lack of reaction.

"My master's plan worked," he said, a wild light brightening his eyes. "He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards."

Hope's mouth thinned into a hard line. And this was one of the people that had tortured Neville's parents into insanity.

"Hope?"

She blinked, having drifted off slightly, jerking back when he touched her shoulder. Hope's eyes were black as coal, hard and cold and looking right through him. Dumbledore felt uncommonly like he was in the presence of Tom Riddle as a boy, collecting likeminded individuals to his cause. Not for the first time he wondered…wondered if he'd made a _huge mistake._

He led her away, all the way up to his office, where Hope embraced Sirius immediately, and he responded so eagerly that he lifted her feet off the floor. He leaned back to grasp her face, to see the red eyes and the tears on her cheeks, before hugging her anew.

Dumbledore couldn't hear what Sirius said to Hope and it felt very much like he was intruding on a private moment.

"Shh…shh, I've got you," Sirius breathed, "I'm here. It's all right." But Hope could feel him shaking in fear for what had happened to her.

"What happened?" Sirius directed his question more to Dumbledore, who explained at a length what Barty Crouch had told them, but all Hope wanted to do was sleep, get away from all this.

She wanted Diane and Quinn and Dean, she wanted George, she wanted Ron and Hermione…and she wanted Nath and Mirror Lady.

"I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze. Hope," said Dumbledore, seeking to draw her attention away from where she was staring hollowly at Salazar Slytherin's portrait. He was awake while the portraits of the other founders slept, and he said nothing, just watched her impassively.

Hope grasped Sirius' hand tightly and he understood her meaning entirely.

"We can leave that till morning, can't we, Dumbledore?" Sirius insisted, squeezing back, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the back of her hand. "Let her have a sleep. Let her rest."

"If I thought I could help you," Dumbledore said much softly than before, "by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened."

Hope's eyes grew sharp and the look she gave him was full of so much contempt. "Putting me into an enchanted sleep? Are you _fucking kidding me?"_

"Hope—" Sirius was startled but she shot a look his way that was all James and Sirius quieted immediately.

"I barely sleep normally, but at least I know that it was out of the kindness of his heart that George offered to brew me a dreamless sleep draught," Hope sneered. "But you love cages so much, don't you, Headmaster? You'd be willing to trap me in my own mind _to ease your own."_

Dumbledore sighed heavily and Sirius looked from Hope to Dumbledore, sensing an animosity that he couldn't place the origin of. "Hope—"

 _"Miss Potter,"_ Hope corrected icily, "we are not that _friendly."_ She raised her head, the move highlighting the scar across her throat. "You don't know anything about me, you just _think_ you do. Just like you think you know what's best for me. You didn't when you forced me to live with the Dursleys, and you still don't, _now."_

Dumbledore opened his mouth but Hope held up a hand.

"I've had two people die in front of me this year, one last year, not counting all the times I've been killed myself," she snapped. "What I've _earned_ is a right to peace and quiet and not being forced to relive _traumatic experiences_ …besides, you were the one that said 'the truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution'?"

Hope was more furious than she had been in a very long time. It had brimming underneath the skin for the entire year, held at bay only by the distraction of the tournament and her friends.

"So here is some truth _for you:_ I don't have to do anything for you, I don't have to tell you anything. You are my headmaster, you have no power to force me to do anything, least of all tell me where to live." Hope stood, her body aching and burning. "Make your assumptions, Headmaster, but I'm not telling you _anything."_

And then she stormed out before he could reel her back in, or indeed lock the door.

Sirius eyed Dumbledore coolly. "Caged?"

Hope Potter did have a tendency to put kinks in his plans.

* * *

Hope's hip was really starting to bother her by the time she made it to the hospital wing, blinking in surprise at the loud arguing. Quinn and Diane were fired up and Dean was scowling fiercely and all the Weasleys and Hermione clustered about, just as demanding.

As if sensing her, Dean turned suddenly to see her standing there. She wondered what he saw; a ragged and wounded girl with scars and blood and grime and tears, hair falling out of her braid.

(Later, Dean said he just saw his sister with all her jagged edges)

He moved first, reaching her before anyone else noticed and Hope clutched at him, choking a sob into his shoulder, clinging to him until he was practically holding her up. She didn't hear much after the rest converged on her, all wanting to know that she was okay but it was far too much stimulation and everything just faded into white noise.

Before Hope had time to complain, the scratch from the Chimaera was gone, as though it had never been there in the first place and the cut on her arm was a thin white scar. Quinn had darted away to places unknown and Diane was murmuring softly to Hope. Ron and Hermione were at a loss, Fred was white-faced, George was so very tired, and Ginny looked like she was about to faint.

A black dog had slunk into the room, unseen by most.

Hope had said nothing since entering the hospital wing but she jumped wildly and gave a small yelp when the doors to the hospital wing were thrown open by the minister, who was closely followed by an irate Professor McGonagall, turning immediately on Madam Pomfrey, who appeared just as startled.

"Where's Dumbledore?"

"He's not here," she snapped out angrily. "This is a hospital wing. Minister, I think you'd better—"

He didn't have to wait very long, though, because Dumbledore had swept into the room. "What has happened? Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you- I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch—"

"There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!" she cried in an anger Hope had not yet seen on her Head of House. "The Minister has seen to that!"

Snape spoke up next, having followed the pair that seemed intent on waging a war. "When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events, he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch—"

"I told him you would not agree, Albus!" Professor McGonagall was quite red in the face now, her eyes sparking in her rage. "I told him you would never allow Dementors to set foot inside the castle, but—"

Hope took George's hand and held it painfully tight.

"My dear woman! As Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous—" He barked out.

"The moment that-that _thing_ entered the room," she shrieked over him, "it swooped down on Crouch and-and—"

Hope's stomach churned. Barty Crouch Jr. soulless…hard to testify without a soul. That made her frown; _had that been the plan all along?_

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" Fudge cried "It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!"

"But now he cannot give testimony, Cornelius. He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people," Dumbledore said, calmer than Hope had expected.

"Why he killed them?" Fudge's eyes popped, bulging in the sockets. "Well, that's no mystery, is it? He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius. Those peoples' deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

Hope had given no testimony herself, but it wasn't hard to assume based on everything that happened. Several people looked to Hope and Hope neither confirmed nor denied anything. What Hope really wanted was a drink.

And maybe one of Nath's cigarettes.

Fudge sputtered, his tongue not seeming to function properly. "You-Know-Who...returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort -learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins- went to free him from his father and used him to capture Hope. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return. When Hope touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, she was transported straight to Voldemort. She witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth."

Hope met his eyes. He was trying to force her into a corner. Hope hated that and he couldn't make her talk. She had admitted it to Crouch, but Dumbledore hadn't been there to witness it…unless he knew a spell to read minds.

"You are -er- prepared to take Hope's word on this, are you, Dumbledore? You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a girl who...well..."

"You know, Hope," Dean said rather loudly, "I think Quinn might be right about wizards."

Diane's mouth twitched and Hope looked to him like they weren't at the center of attention. "Which part?" she asked.

"They really can't tell the difference between truth and gossip."

Dean was ordinarily quite mild mannered, but the look he gave was brutal and cold and the room felt like it had dropped a few degrees. Diane knew that look, _very well._

"Listen here, _boy—"_

"My _name_ is Dean Thomas," Dean said sharply, crossing his arms, "and you're accusing my sister of lying, which she doesn't really _need_ to do…because no one bothers to believe her when she tells the truth in the _first place._ You're just _one person_ in a long line of people that believe what they've heard rather than what's _actually true."_

Fudge looked between Hope and Dean, comparing the olive to the dark skin. Neither were impressed by that.

"You _do_ know that people can be siblings without being related?" Diane asked archly before looking to her kids. "I don't know why I'm sending you to get education here if they don't teach you the basics."

Ginny hid her giggles.

"Where's my sword?" Hope asked loudly.

As if summoned, it materialized and dropped straight down to slide into stone before the minister -who let out an ungodly shriek and leapt back- vibrating back and forth.

Fudge reached out to touch it but the hilt burned red hot and he waved his hand off, trying to rid him of the stinging.

Hope stood silently and strode forward to grasp the hilt easily and pull it out of the floor. "Minister, I am used to ridicule and abuse, I've endured worse than a few taunts and I don't particularly _care_ what you think or who you believe. But I didn't use the Avada Kedavra on Cedric Diggory and you could've easily brought an Auror guard with you, but you _didn't._ This is a hospital wing. You are not injured, so I think you should leave. The door is behind you." Wet blood still glittered on the blade and she turned around without a look back to him.

She handed the blade over to Dean who took it, his hand covering hers as she leaned up to whisper something in his ear. He frowned, but he murmured an agreement, taking the sword with him as he left.

"I want my doctor," Hope said shortly to Madam Pomfrey, who was trying to get her to drink a potion without telling her what it was. "Dr. Eleanor Lipson. I'm sure Quinn's gone to get her and she's going to be pissed because I'm going to tell her that you just poured me a dreamless sleeping draught and are trying to get me to drink it, despite my aversion to it."

George full-on glowered at Madam Pomfrey. "She can't drink that! She has nightmares!"

Madam Pomfrey set down the goblet. "She needs rest! She's endured something emotionally and physically taxing, she needs—"

"She needs a full assessment, a psychological evaluation, several blood transfusions, and to be restarted to the anti-depressants she went off because she was too busy trying to stay alive in this grotesque entertainment of a tournament you people subjected her to," a loud voice snapped and everyone turned to see a short woman with bouncing curls in a white coat. "I'm Dr. Lipson, and I'm taking my patient with me. She'll be treated outside this _farce_ of a school."

Dumbledore stepped forward. "Miss Lipson, I'm worry, but I must insist Miss Potter remain here where it is safe, no muggle hospital—"

"I'm not taking her to a hospital," Dr. Lipson snapped. "I'm taking her to the infirmary at the school for magicians that she attends during the summer, where our protections far surpass your own. Mari, can you walk?"

Hope nodded wordlessly.

"All right, then, come along."

In a few short minutes, Hope Potter was gone, leaving only silence in her wake.

* * *

George could be intimidating. Dean knew a lot of people didn't think so, but he was the boyfriend of his sister, it wasn't hard to find him intimidating.

"Is she coming back?"

"The last time I checked," Dean shrugged. "Mum said she had to get a lot of blood, it wiped her out for about a day…she promised Hope'd be back before the end of term."

Which was tomorrow.

Dean started to walk away, but George stopped him. "I knew she wasn't taking them."

He turned back and George ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "The, uh—"

"The anti-depressants," Dean clarified. "The daily pills."

"Yeah, those," George agreed, "I asked her about them, but she always brushed it off…said she had other things to worry about."

"Yeah, she says stuff like that," Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Don't get me wrong, I love her, but…she's _really bad_ about taking care of her mental health."

George sighed heavily, pressing a hand to his face. "She likes—"

"—her secrets, yeah, I know." Dean shrugged helpfully. "Quinn says all healing takes time…she was friends with Cedric, but not close friends, besides, she'd been avoiding him for most of the year."

"She had?" George hadn't noticed that, but what he did notice was a very familiar figure in the distance, speaking with what looked like Fleur and her mother. Hope barely smiled but she nodded a few times, said something to Fleur that made her hug Hope. Then she was waving goodbye and heading upstairs and George had to leave Dean behind to follow after her quickly.

The stairs were still extended and the trapdoor into Morea's room still open when George made his way up.

Hope hadn't noticed him, shrugging off a coat, and George was surprised that she was wearing a black dress underneath, remembering how much she disliked dresses. She paused, pulling out the mobile she used to call Nath and her mother on occasion, pressing a button and holding it to her ear. "I know you're probably busy, but…" Her fingers paused over the bag of galleons that was her prize money for winning the tournament that Ron had brought up to the room some time ago. She raised her hand back up, clearing her throat. "I'm just calling to check on you…and let you know that I've decided to take an extra class over the summer. You're right, I can handle it…love you, Nath, call me _wheneve_ r, I guess."

She shut it, dropping the phone onto the coat before kicking off her shoes. "I'm fine," she said loudly and George realized she must've heard he was there the whole time. "I'm just…emotionally _exhausted."_

George slid his arms around her waist and Hope sank her back into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head. "You're wearing a dress."

"Yeah," Hope muttered. "The Diggorys are an old family. I thought they'd appreciate it more if I showed up to the funeral wearing a dress."

"You went to his funeral?" George was surprised. "Dean said you were avoiding Cedric all year."

Hope frowned. "Morg needs to keep his thoughts to himself sometimes."

George coughed to hide a snort. "Morg?"

"Dean Morgan Thomas. Mum called him Morg or Mo-Mo when he was a baby…he absolutely hates it now." Hope pulled the clip out of her hair and George ran his fingers through the rough mane. "They gave me the money because Cedric's dead, didn't they?"

She sounded so tired.

"Fudge didn't want to…said you climbing the hedges was cheating," George admitted, "but Hermione didn't like that very much."

Hope leaned her head back, arching an eyebrow. "Hermione talked back to the _Minister for Magic?"_

"More like she pled your case, pointed out that there's nothing against _not_ using magic in the tournament," George corrected. "She should look at being a lawyer after she graduates."

Hope hummed and George swayed them back and forth. "You know there's nothing you could've done, right? It wasn't your fault."

It had taken years for Hope to understand that and it had been naïve to think that she could change things for Cedric just because she knew him, just because she _liked_ him.

"I think," she said slowly, "maybe sometimes life is random and unfair. You know, if it doesn't always ask our permission. It just is. And there isn't always some god trying to knock me down every year…it's just… _life."_

George kissed her cheek. "You've had a run of really bad luck, though, I'll admit that."

Hope smiled faintly, turning around in his arms to bury her face in his chest. "I love you," she said thickly.

"I know," George grinned, but he didn't really understand why that made her throw her head back and laugh for the first time since the third task. "What?"

"Don't worry about it…inside joke," Hope said before dropping her hand to the bag of gold. "I want you to take this, though."

"What? No, I couldn't do that," George insisted quickly, "that's _yours—"_

"Dearest, I have enough money, don't you think?" Hope asked tiredly. "Think of it as an investment, into your shop…you're brilliant, both of you are…the money will give you a place to start from, more than what you lost to Bagman."

George started, looking at her in surprise.

Hope smiled. "Dean overheard you guys talking."

"And of course, he told you immediately," George groaned.

"You know what they say about twins…share a womb and you never go back." Hope winked and George thought it was best not to point out that they might've been born on the same day, but they definitely hadn't shared a womb. "He was worried…he said he didn't want his sister's boyfriend getting into trouble, even if you treat him like a kid."

George pulled her close. "He _is_ a kid."

"We're the same age and you just do it because it annoys him." Hope rolled her eyes, ducking up to kiss under his jaw. "Please take the money and use it to make something fun. I get the feeling we're all going to need laughs going forward."

George looked at her, at the iron beneath the exhaustion. "All right," he said before he realized what he was doing and Hope's smile was more grateful than anything. "Just because it's you."

And somehow, they both knew they were at the cusp of something terrifying and dangerous, but only time would tell just how much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book four is officially done! A lot of fun stuff is coming up in book five and I'm really looking forward to it. This book took so long because I was fleshing out characters and relationships but its improved so much from the original! We're slowly getting into more and more Magicians stuff and I'm very excited!
> 
> There's a lot of stuff going on with Hope that will make sense in the long run when Selenar or Morrigan explain some shit :)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @harpers-tartarus


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